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WORKS  BY  OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM. 


The  Religion  of  Humanity.  4th  edition,  i2mo,  pp.  338  . $1  50 

44  A profoundly  sincere  book,  the  work  of  one  who  has  read  largely,  studied 
thoroughly,  reflected  patiently.” — Boston  Globe. 

Stories  from  the  Lips  of  the  Teacher.  Retold  by  a Disciple. 
Sixth  edition,  i6mo,  pp.  193  . . . . . . $1  00 

44  It  is  in  style  and  thought  a superior  book,  that  will  interest  young  and  old.” — 
Zion  Herald  (Methodist). 

Stories  of  the  Patriarchs.  3d  edition.  r6mo,  pp.  232  . $1  00 

44  The  sublimest  lessons  of  manhood  in  the  simple  language  of  a child.” — 
Springfield  Republican . 

The  Child’s  Book  of  Religion.  For  Sunday-Schools  and  Homes. 
New  edition,  revised.  i6mo,  pp.  xii.  + 273  . . . $1  00 

Transcendentalism  in  New  England.  A History.  Second 
edition.  8vo,  pp.  iv.  + 394  . . . . . $1  75 

“ The  book  is  masterly  and  satisfying.” — Appleton's  Journal. 

The  Cradle  of  the  Christ.  A Study  in  Primitive  Christianity. 
8vo,  pp.  x.  4-  234  . . . . . . . $1  50 

*'  Scholarly,  acute,  and  vigorous.” — N.  1".  Tribune. 

Theodore  Parker.  A Biography.  8vo,  pp.  viii.  4-  588  . 2 00 

Gerrit  Smith.  A Biography.  8vo,  pp.  371  . . . 2 00 

“ A good  biography,  it  is  faithful,  sufficiently  full,  written  with  vigor,  grace, 
and  good  taste.’  — N . Y.  Evening  Post. 

Belief  of  the  Unbelievers,  nmo,  sewed  ...  23 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Frothingham’s  Sermons,  the  Springfield  Republican  says: 
u No  one  of  serious  intellectual  character  can  fail  to  be  interested  and  taught  by 
these  most  thoughtful  discourses.” 

Boston  Unitarianism.  1820-1840.  A Study  of  the  Life  and  Work 
of  Nathaniel  Langdon  Frothingham.  8vo,  pp.  272  . $1  75 

” The  book,  to  a thoughtful  reader,  cannot  fail  to  be  elevating  and  suggestive 
of  high  ideals,  high  thinking,  and  noble  living.” — Newark  Advertiser. 

Recollections  and  Impressions.  1822-1S90.  Svo  . . $1  50 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS,  New  York  and  London 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND 
IMPRESSIONS 

i 822- 1 890 


OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 

AUTHOR  OF  “ BOSTON  UNITARIANISM,  1820-1850,  A STUDY  OF  THE  LIFE 
AND  WORK  OF  NATHANIEL  LANGDON  FROTHINGHAM,” 

“THE  RELIGION  OF  HUMANITY,”  ETC.,  ETC. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

27  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  ST.  27  KING  WILLIAM  ST.,  STRAND 

®Ije  ^nuhtrboclur  |)rtgs 

1891 


Copyright,  1891 

BY 

OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 


Ube  Ifcnfcfeerbocfter  jpress,  1 Rew  tjorfe 

Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 
G.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons 


CONTENTS. 


f 9 m f 


I. — Parentage i 

II. — Education  .......  19 

III.  — Divinity  School  ......  25 

IV.  — Salem  ........  35 

V. — The  Crisis  in  Belief 53 

VI. — Jersey  City 65 

VII. — New  York 76 

VIII.— War 104 

IX. — The  Free  Religious  Association  . . 115 

X. — The  Progress  of  Religious  Thought  in 

America  .......  133 

XI. — The  Clerical  Profession  ....  146 

XII. — My  Teachers 165 

XIII.  — My  Companions 190 

XIV.  — My  Friends . 225 

XV. — -The  Present  Situation  ....  248 

XVI. — The  Religious  Future  of  America  .272 

XVII. — Confessions 289 

Index  303 


iii 


282085 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


I. 


PARENTAGE. 


My  father  was,  as  I have  said  elsewhere,  a clergy- 
man in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  a Unitarian  minister 
to  the  First  Church,  standing  in  a long  line  of  men, 
of  whom  the  earliest  was  severely  orthodox,  while 
he  abhorred  orthodoxy.  Yet  he  was  ordained  with- 
out hesitation,  was  more  than  acceptable  to  the  best 
minds  through  a service  of  thirty-five  years,  and  con- 
tinued more  and  more  unorthodox  to  the  end ; so 
gradually  and  insensibly  did  the  Puritan  tenets  dis- 
appear one  by  one  until  the  shadow  of  them  only 
remained.  We  are  assured  that  by  1780  nearly  all 
the  congregational  pulpits  were  filled  by  Arminians. 
In  1815,  the  year  of  my  father’s  ordination,  they 
were  well  domesticated  in  New  England,  Calvinism 
having  lost  its  hold  on  the  minds  of  thinking  people, 
and  none  but  keen-eyed  watchers  on  the  tower  seeing 
what  course  opinion  was  taking.  How  far  the  ten- 
dency towards  the  moral  and  practical  view  of  reli- 
gion as  discinct  from  the  speculative  view  had  gone, 


2 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


is  well  illustrated  in  1113'  father’s  case.  He  was  a 
man  of  excellent  education,  one  of  the  best  scholars 
in  a distinguished  class  at  Harvard,  an  enthusiast 
for  intellectual  cultivation,  singularly  refined  in  per- 
ception, an  acute  critic,  a careful,  precise,  elegant 
writer.  His  tastes  were  pre-eminentl}7'  literar}'.  This 
is  said  in  full  view  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a learned 
theologian,  a pungent  disputant,  a zealous  student 
of  biblical  researches,  a faithful  pastor. 

He  was  essentialty  a man  of  letters.  His  passion 
was  for  the  Latin  classics.  The  best  edition  of 
Cicero  was  on  his  shelves  ; the  finest  copy  of  Horace 
graced  his  book-case.  His  knowledge  of  the  Greek 
literature  and  language  was  fair.  He  was  fond  of 
poetry  of  a stately  and  romantic  description ; was, 
himself,  a poet  of  a gentle,  meditative,  spiritual  cast, 
especially  eminent  as  a composer  of  hymns  written 
for  church  occasions,  the  dedication  of  meeting- 
houses, the  consecration  of  ministers,  many  of  them 
of  permanent  and  general  value,  as  both  “liberal" 
and  “ orthodox  ” collections  attest ; while  he  has 
done  as  much  as  an}'  man  in  his  generation  to 
elevate,  purify,  and  console  delicate  and  serious 
natures. 

His  library  of  about  three  thousand  volumes  was 
exceedingly  miscellaneous,  illustrating  the  breadth 
of  his  interests  and  the  activit}'  of  his  mind.  There 
were  Bibles  of  choice  editions  and  in  every  tongue. 
There  were  biblical  commentaries,  dictionaries,  gram- 
mars. The  Church  Fathers  were  well  represented. 


PARENTAGE. 


3 


Church  history  was  presented  by  its  best  narrators. 
But  the  bulk  of  the  collection  was  secular.  It  con- 
tained copies  of  Addison,  Johnson,  Bayle,  Carlyle, 
Milton,  Bacon,  Dante,  Dickens,  Emerson,  Grote, 
Shakespeare,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Hugo,  Heeren,  Hume, 
Iriarte,  Michelet,  Lessing,  Kingsley,  Macaulay,  Long- 
fellow, Plutarch,  Pindar,  Pope,  Scott,  Rousseau,  Ra- 
cine, Riickert,  Rabelais,  Tasso,  George  Sand,  Thu- 
cydides, Theocritus,  Virgil,  Voltaire,  Wieland,  Pliny, 
Wordsworth,  Wilkinson,  Zschokke,  Walt  Whitman. 
They  were  very  various.  They  commanded  all  ex- 
tremes : Augustine  and  Anacreon  ; Aratus  and  An- 
nual Register  JEschylus  and  Moliere  ; Aristotle  and 
Herrick ; Seneca  and  Horace  ; Antoninus  and  Alma- 
nacs; Burton  and  Boccaccio.  There  was  no  pure 
metaphysics — -a  compendium  or  two  of  philosophy, 
a bit  of  Spinoza,  of  Kant,  of  Cousin,  of  Jouffroy, 
of  Malebranche,  the  “ Dialogues  ” of  Plato — nothing 
of  Schelling  or  Hegel.  I find  Proclus,  and  Jambli- 
cus,  and  Bohme,  and  dramatic  literature  in  Greek, 
Latin,  Lrench,  German.  Here  is  Burlamaqui  on 
Law,  and  Erasmus  Darwin,  and  Godwin’s  “ Me- 
moirs of  Mary  Wollstonecraft,”  and  the  Hitopa- 
desa,  and  the  “ Hymns  ” of  Orpheus,  and  Palae- 
phatus,  together  with  many  a forgotten  book. 

The  favorite  language  next  to  English  was  Ger- 
man, then  came  Lrench,  then  Latin,  which  was 
pretty  well  represented  in  its  literature.  Dr.  Lroth- 
ingham  was  a wide  reader,  but  his  finest  gift  was  a 
power  of  penetrating  to  the  heart  of  an  author,  a 


4 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


power  that  was  akin  to  genius.  He  called  himself  a 
taster.  But  every  taster  must  take  into  his  mouth 
some  things  that  are  unpleasant,  and  he  did.  He 
nibbled  at  Heine,  but  Heine’s  philosophy  disgusted 
him.  He  nibbled  at  Browning,  but  Browning’s 
lack  of  sensuous  music  did  not  satisfy  his  idea  of 
poetry.  His  mind,  trained  in  the  old  school,  could 
not  adapt  itself  to  the  new  style  of  expression. 

He  gladly  turned  his  back  on  doctrines  he  did 
not  like.  He  was  spiritually  minded,  but  soberly  so, 
as  if  to  be  spiritually  minded  belonged  to  a special 
temperament ; a Christian  theist  in  all  respects, 
though  indifferent  to  many  details  of  Christian 
doctrine ; an  optimist  on  principle  as  well  as  from 
instinct,  inclined  to  put  the  most  cheerful  construc- 
tion on  the  ways  of  divine  Providence,  and  to  look 
patiently  on  the  moral  conditions  of  human  life;  an 
unquestioning  believer  in  Christ,  immortality,  the 
need  of  revelation,  the  supremacy  of  the  religious 
and  moral  nature,  the  demand  for  the  steady  influ- 
ence of  the  spiritual  world  to  enlighten  mankind  on 
the  truths  of  conscience  no  less  than  on  the  mys- 
teries of  faith.  He  was  no  seer,  gazing  on  things 
unseen  with  the  penetrating,  inward  eye ; no  prophet 
possessed  by  an  overwhelming  conviction  of  the 
absolute  law ; no  regenerator  believing  that  men 
must  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth  by  an  interior 
renewal  of  soul ; no  reformer  bent  on  changing  the 
circumstances  of  society.  He  was  an  apostle  of  air, 
sunshine,  and  the  mild,  enticing  summer  shower 


PARENTAGE. 


5 


which  covered  the  wintry  ground  with  the  smiling 
grass  and  the  sweet-smelling  flowers.  Reformers,  of 
whatever  school,  were  not  to  his  taste,  partly  be- 
cause their  methods  seemed  to  him  violent,  but  partly 
also  because  their  primary  assumption  that  the 
world  was  out  of  joint  did  not  command  his  sympa- 
thy. He  could  not  think  that  the  established  in- 
stitutions of  the  age  ought  to  be  subverted,  even 
though  they  might  be  improved  under  enlightened 
teaching.  Socially  he  was  conservative,  although 
by  no  means  reactionary ; disposed  to  see  the  soul 
of  good  in  things  evil,  though  not  always  as  studious 
as  one  must  needs  be  to  “ search  it  out.”  Rather  he 
took  it  for  granted,  and  was  often  impatient  with 
those  who  felt  keenly  the  evil  but  could  not  dis- 
cover the  good. 

High-minded  he  was  rather  than  deep-souled ; 
devout  in  sentiment,  chivalrously  moral  in  principle 
and  in  practice ; ideal,  poetic,  delicate  of  sensibility, 
but  not  soaring  of  spirit ; certainly  not  a spiritual 
enthusiast,  as  little  a prosaic  plodder ; no  mystic  but 
no  disciple  of  “ common-sense.”  For  the  dignity, 
decency,  purity,  propriety  of  the  clerical  profession 
he  had  great  regard,  but  as  much  on  account  of  its 
social  position  as  on  account  of  its  sanctity.  It  indi- 
cated the  highest  type  of  gentlemanliness,  the  finest 
style  of  personal  character,  a kind  of  exquisite  court- 
liness of  manhood,  humanity  of  a finished  stamp  of 
elegance ; and  he  resented  everything  like  an  admix- 
ture of  ordinary  philanthropy.  It  was  in  his  view  a 


6 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


descent  to  enter  the  arena  of  strife  even  for  the  pur- 
pose of  removing  an  evil.  Thence  his  dislike  of 
Channing ; his  disapproval  of  Pierpont,  otherwise  a 
particular  favorite  of  his ; his  disagreement  with 
Parker,  of  whom  he  was  fond.  When  the  “ Miscel- 
lanies ” were  published  the  writer  sent  a copy  to  his 
friend,  who  acknowledged  the  volume  by  a letter  in 
which  expressions  of  personal  affection  were  curi- 
ously blended  with  antipathy  towards  the  class  of 
speculations  with  which  Mr.  Parker  was  identified. 
George  Ripley  and  R.  W.  Emerson  won  and  held  his 
attachment  to  the  end,  but  he  never  visited  Brook 
Farm,  and  was  deaf  to  solicitations  to  join  the 
Transcendental  Club. 

His  friends  were  many  and  various — Emerson, 
Ripley,  Francis,  Hedge,  Bartol,  Stetson,  Parkman, 
Longfellow,  Felton,  Hillard, — the  list  is  long,  for 
the  sunny  temper  of  the  man  drew  all  hearts  to  him 
and  his  warm  affectionateness  of  disposition  made 
him  tenacious  of  good-will.  He  was  interested  in 
men  as  individuals  not  as  members  of  a clique  or 
party,  and  was  not  repelled  by  differences  of  opinion 
where  his  heart  was  engaged.  On  the  whole,  his 
sympathies  were  with  conservatives  like  George 
Ticknor  and  W.  H.  Prescott,  and  the  literary  spirit 
mainly  kept  him  in  association  with  those.  Where 
this  spirit  was  wanting  and  there  was  divergence  of 
sentiment  there  was  no  attempt  at  intimacy. 

Of  interest  in  the  denomination,  the  sect,  the  party 
name,  he  was  absolutely  devoid.  He  never  attended 


PARENTAGE. 


7 


the  conventions  or  conferences  of  the  Unitarian  body 
or  spoke  in  their  deliberations,  v On  anniversary 
week  it  was  for  many  years  his  custom  to  visit  New 
York,  where  no  professional  responsibility  rested 
upon  him,  and  where  he  could  find  recreations  of 
a purely  social  kind.  But  at  the  “ Boston  Asso- 
ciation ” where  he  met  friends  one  by  one,  and 
could  talk  half  confidentially,  with  perfect  free- 
dom, in  a conversational  tone,  he  delighted  to  be 
present. 

For  the  rest,  he  was  a man  universally  respected, 
admired,  and  beloved,  mirthful  and  sportive,  more 
than  tolerant  of  gaiety,  as  a rule  in  excellent  spirits, 
though  subject,  as  such  temperaments  usually  are, 
to  moods  of  depression.  Without  private  ambition 
and  utterly  destitute  of  vanity,  his  uneventful  days 
were  spent  among  his  friends  and  his  books.  The 
round  of  clerical  duties  was  even  and  monotonous ; 
his  calling  had  few  excitements ; even  poverty  had 
limits,  and  social  iniquity  was  manageable  in  those 
times  when  relations  were  simple.  The  routine  of 
parochial  service  was  such  as  a friendly  man  of 
quick  sympathies  and  ready  speech  could  easily 
discharge  in  a few  hours  of  each  week,  nor  was 
the  transition  violent  from  it  to  the  quiet  library, 
the  companionship  of  Cicero,  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Walter  Scott,  Herder,  Rtickert.  The  love  of  art, 
society,  literature,  was  not  inconsistent  with  a love 
of  the  Saviour  ; and  though  as  a matter  of  taste  he 
would  not  have  spoken  of  a sonata  of  Beethoven  in 


8 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


a sermon,  there  was  nothing  in  his  philosophy  to 
render  secular  allusions  improper. 

His  literary  predilections  were  somewhat  at  the 
mercy  of  his  sense  of  beauty,  as  if  he  had  an  eye  to 
artistic  effect  quite  as  much  as  to  intellectual  justice, 
as  if  the  firm  lines  of  logical  discernment  were  blurred 
by  the  passion  for  poetic  or  scenic  grace.  Of  the  two 
famous  Herman  writers  about  whom  opinions  were 
divided,  he  greatly  preferred  Schiller  to  Goethe, 
probably  because  the  former  was  glorious,  ardent, 
declamatory.  Of  the  two  eminent  English  novelists 
whom  all  the  world  was  reading,  Dickens  was  his 
choice  far  above  Thackeray,  perhaps  for  the  reason 
that  Dickens  had  color  and  warmth  of  sentiment, 
while  Thackeray  seemed  to  him  cold,  skeptical,  and 
cynical.  The  flow  of  eloquence,  the  charm  of  dra- 
matic style  made  him  relish  authors  as  radically 
unlike  as  Carlyle,  Ruskin,  and  Macaulay,  rendering 
him  unmindful  of  qualities  in  their  cast  of  thought 
which  he  might  have  disapproved  of  if  less  se- 
ductively presented.  When  a lady  objected  to 
Macaulay  on  the  score  of  his  material  ethics, 
Dr.  Froth ingham  was  too  much  captivated  by 
Macaulay’s  manner  to  criticise  his  philosophy,  and 
he  let  the  philosophy  go.  It  sometimes  looked 
as  if  the  way  in  which  things  were  said  was  of 
more  importance  in  his  view  than  the  things  them- 
selves ; but  it  was  not  so,  for  he  could  respond 
to  ideal  sentiments  when  they  offered  themselves 
fairly  to  his  mind,  and  his  moral  indignation 


PA  REN  TA  GE. 


9 


against  an  act  of  flagrant  turpitude  was  quick 
and  hot. 

With  politics,  whether  speculative  or  practical,  he 
gave  himself  small  concern,  for  in  his  day  politics 
were  hardly  an  honorable  calling.  He  belonged  to 
the  Whig  party,  as  it  was  then  called,  because  it 
comprised  the  greater  number  of  educated  men — 
scholars,  divines,  lawyers,  physicians,  judges,  and 
people  of  consideration  from  their  position  in  so- 
ciety. The  Republican  party  in  Massachusetts  was 
not  formed  till  his  public  life  was  nearly  ended,  and 
we  may  doubt  whether  he  would  in  any  case  have 
connected  himself  with  it,  for  its  aims  and  purposes 
were  hardly  such  as  he  could  have  gone  along  with. 
The  well-known  sentiment,  ascribed  to  Wendell 
Phillips,  “ Peace  if  possible,  Truth  at  any  rate,” 
he  would  in  all  probability  have  reversed  so  as  to 
read,  “Truth  if  possible,  Peace  at  any  rate”;  not 
because  the  search  for  truth  was  difficult,  and  peace 
furnished  the  most  promising  conditions  for  finding 
it,  but  because  peace  was  preferable  in  itself  as  being 
stable  and  quiet.  He  was  not  a fighter  ; he  disliked 
the  noise  of  battle  ; his  horror  of  anti-slavery  agita- 
tion, as  of  all  other,  was  constitutional ; and  even  if 
he  had  been  convinced  of  the  slave’s  degradation,  no 
mode  of  redress  that  was  proposed  commended  itself 
to  his  gentle,  apprehensive  mind.  To  him  the  chief 
interest  of  society  was  enlightenment  associated 
with  refinement ; the  needed  influence  was  that  of 
education.  He  was  a delicately  organized,  sensitive 


IO 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


man,  fond  of  repose,  happy  in  his  temperament,  in 
his  tastes,  in  his  occupation,  in  his  social  position,  in 
his  relationships,  in  his  home.  He  had  his  disap- 
pointments and  sorrows  like  other  men,  but  he  did 
not  repine.  His  latter  years  were  afflicted  with 
total  blindness,  accompanied  by  constant  distress 
and  steadily  increasing  pain ; but  his  friends  never 
failed  to  hud  him  cheerful ; the  companion  who  min- 
istered to  his  daily  necessities  and  culled  from  books 
and  periodicals  the  materials  for  his  entertainment, 
seldom  had  reason  to  complain  of  his  petulance ; the 
visitor  could  with  difficulty  be  brought  to  believe 
that  the  man  was  living  in  the  presence  of  death, 
and  was  exposed  to  frightful  phantoms  due  to  a 
slowly  decomposing  brain. 

His  aesthetic  tastes  were  active,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, and  would  have  been  keen  if  there  had  been 
opportunity  for  cultivating  them,  and  leisure  to  pur- 
sue them.  The  pictures  that  adorned  his  parlor 
walls  were  not  distinguished  as  works  of  art,  but 
they  were  pure  in  sentiment,  they  showed  a love  of 
color,  and  of  the  highest  truth.  There  was  not  much 
tine  painting  at  that  time  in  America,  and  what  there 
was  required  for  its  fair  appreciation  more  training 
and  experience  than  was  possessed  by  one  immersed 
in  the  cares  of  an  exacting  profession  and  interested 
also  in  literary  pursuits.  Mr.  Frothingham’s  artistic 
taste  was,  besides,  so  much  controlled  by  moral  feel- 
ing that  he  could  not  be  critical  of  form.  Of  art 
for  its  own  sake  he  had  no  conception,  and  could 


PARENTAGE. 


II 


have  none,  for  that  cry  which  voices  the  demands  of 
technical  execution  had  not  been  raised ; but  even  if 
it  had  been  he  would  have  felt  no  sympathy  with 
any  kind  of  excellence  that  was  not  directly  asso- 
ciated with  the  moral  sentiment. 

His  taste  in  music  was  much  like  his  taste  in 
painting, — that  is  to  say,  it  was  uneducated  and  un- 
scientific. To  the  great  music, — -that  of  the  intellect 
and  the  soul, — the  compositions  of  the  masters,  of 
Bach,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Mendelssohn,  he  was  in- 
different ; but  the  music  of  the  heart,  of  feeling, 
emotion,  elevated  passion, — the  Scotch  songs,  the 
Irish  melodies,  the  English  lays,  madrigals,  glees, 
was  his  delight.  He  was  especially  fond  of  reli- 
gious airs.  The  oratorios  of  “ The  Creation  ” and 
“ The  Messiah  ” he  was  never  tired  of  hearing.  His 
voice  was  melodious,  and  he  was  fond  of  using  it. 
His  organist  taught  him  the  principles  of  his  own 
art,  and  hours  were  spent  at  a parlor-organ  in  play- 
ing favorite  hymn-tunes,  the  melody  of  which  he 
sang  as  he  played.  He  amused  his  children  by  tril- 
ling nursery  ditties,  and  joined  his  boys  as  they  per- 
formed glees  from  the  “ Orphean  Lyre,”  sometimes 
singing  with  the  heart  quite  as  much  as  with  the 
understanding.  His  joyous  nature  expressed  itself 
instinctively  in  song.  His  whole  nervous  system  re- 
sponded to  it.  He  was  transported  out  of  himself 
by  sweet  strains,  and  fairly  trembled  under  the  influ- 
ence of  divine  harmonies. 

Mr.  Frothingham’s  love  of  dramatic  art  amounted 


12 


RECOLLECTION S AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


to  a passion,  but  the  art  must  be  liigli  as  well  as 
pure.  Tragedy  be  did  not  like.  All  of  the  Shake- 
spearian plays  he  was  critically  familiar  with,  but  he 
loved  u The  Tempest  ” best,  as  uniting  poetry  with 
cheerfulness  in  fullest  measure.  The  lines  he  wrote 
on  the  restoration  of  the  Federal  Street  Theatre  ex- 
pressed the  depth  of  his  interest.  A religious 
society,  afterwards  the  “ Central  Church  ” in  Win- 
ter Street,  was  gathered  here.  Of  this  kind  of 
enterprise  the  poet  says  : 

More  reverence  than  befits  us  here  to  tell, 

We  yield  to  courts  where  sacred  honors  dwell. 

But  have  not  they  their  places  ? Have  not  we  ? 

Has  not  each  liberal  province  leave  to  be? 

The  “ Lecture-Room  ” he  had  little  respect  for, 
none  at  all  for  the  “ Variety  Show.”  To  eveiy 
device  he  wishes  a cordial  farewell,  exclaiming : 

Restored  ! Restored  ! Well  known  so  long  a time, 

These  buried  glories  rise  as  in  their  prime. 

Our  tastes  may  change  as  fickle  fashions  fly. 

But  art  is  safe  : the  Drama  cannot  die. 

More  than  restored  ! Whate’er  the  pen  since  wrought 
Of  loftiest,  sprightliest,  here  that  wealth  has  brought. 

Whate’er  the  progress  of  the  age  has  lent 
Of  purer  taste  and  comelier  ornament, — 

To  this  our  temple  it  transfers  its  store, 

And  makes  each  point  shine  lovelier  than  before. 


But  the  drama  must  be  clean : 

But  more  yet, — and  how  much  ! We  claim  a praise 
The  Playhouse  knew  not  in  the  ancient  days. 

Own  us,  ye  hearts  with  moral  purpose  warm  ! 

Our  word  Renewal  adds  the  word  Reform. 


PARENTAGE. 


13 


Come,  friends  of  Virtue  ! Share  the  feast  we  spread. 
It  loads  no  spirits,  and  it  heats  no  head. 

But  rouses  forth  each  power  of  mind  and  soul 
With  food  ambrosial  and  its  fairy  bowl. 


Hearts  are  improved  by  Feeling’s  play  and  strife  ; 

Refined  amusement  humanizes  life. 

So  wrote  the  Sages,  whom  the  world  admired  ; 

So  sang  the  Poets,  who  the  world  inspired  ; 

Why  in  New  England’s  Athens  is  decried 

What  old  Athenian  culture  thought  its  pride? 

Thus  Righteousness  and  Peace  are  made  to  Mss 
each  other.  Art  and  Virtue  walk  hand  in  hand. 
The  sole  condition  is  that  art  shall  be  virtuous  and 
that  virtue  shall  be  artistic.  There  was  a singular 
blending  in  his  mind  of  the  sacred  and  the  secular. 
Perhaps  Matthew  Arnold’s  definition  of  religion  as 
“ morality  touched  with  emotion  ” comes  as  near  ex- 
pressing Dr.  Frothingham’s  conception  as  any. 
There  must  be  morality  ; that  is  cardinal ; that  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  all  systems ; that  must  be  strict 
and  high.  But  emotion  is  indispensable  also.  This 
runs  into  praise,  the  love  of  goodness,  the  worship 
of  the  highest.  This  imparts  warmth,  glow,  passion, 
the  upward  lift  that  inspires.  Morality  alone  is 
cold,  emotion  alone  is  apt  to  be  visionary.  But  the 
two  united  propel  the  ship,  one  serving  as  ballast  to 
keep  it  steady,  and  one  as  sails  to  catch  the  winds  of 
heaven. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


14 

My  mother  was  an  example  of  pure  character. 
She  laid  no  claim  whatever  to  literary  talent.  In- 
deed she  had  none.  I cannot  associate  her  with 
books  of  any  special  description,  but  I can  always 
associate  her  with  goodness,  with  humility,  sincerity, 
duty,  kindness,  pity,  and  simplicity.  Truthfulness 
was  her  great  virtue,  and  was  saved  from  bluntness 
only  by  her  delicate  feeling  for  others  and  her  inborn 
politeness.  The  severest  rebuke  I ever  received  from 
her  was  on  account  of  a sharp  arraignment  of  mer- 
chants in  a youthful  sermon,  which  to  her  seemed  pre- 
sumptuous. Her  household  cares,  the  nurture  of  her 
children  (she  had  seven,  five  sons  and  two  daugh- 
ters, all  of  whom  she  trained  most  carefully  like  a de- 
voted mother),  the  family  visitings,  the  parish  calls, 
missions  among  the  poor,  occupied  the  day.  She 
would  sit  for  hours  knitting  or  sewing,  or  in  an  arm- 
chair before  the  coal  fire  silently  musing.  She  was 
quiet,  reserved,  old-fashioned  in  her  sentiments,  but 
with  a great  fund  of  inward  strength,  'which  came 
out  on  emergencies.  I shall  always  remember  her 
ceaseless  solicitude  for  an  unfortunate  elder  brother 
of  mine  who  had  for  years  been  an  anxiety  and  a 
trouble.  When  he  died  in  early  manhood,  after 
nursing  him  tenderly,  she  softly  closed  his  eyes,  and 
preserved  the  memory  of  him  in  her  heart.  Her 
chamber  window  in  the  country  looked  upon  his  dis- 
tant grave,  the  little  white  stone  over  which  kept 
him  before  her  eye  who  was  always  in  her  thoughts. 

She  accepted  the  existing  order  of  things  because 


PARENTAGE. 


15 


it  was  established,  disliking  experiments,  however 
humane,  for  the  reason  that  they  had  not  been  tested ; 
and  if  she  had  misgivings,  she  kept  them  to  herself 
not  daring  to  set  up  her  private  feelings  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  will  of  the  Supreme,  the  question  whether 
the  existing  order  expressed  the  will  of  the  Supreme 
never  being  raised  by  her. 

She  was  Unitarian,  having  so  been  taught,  but 
speculative  matters  were  out  of  her  reach  as  well  as 
uncongenial  with  her  sphere.  Her  faith  was  of  the 
heart,  and  all  the  reason  for  it  she  had  to  give  was  an 
uplifted  life,  “ unspotted  from  the  world.”  Of  creeds 
she  knew  nothing,  not  that  she  was  deficient  in  mind, 
but  because  they  seemed  to  her  to  be  alfairs  of  criti- 
cism, with  which  she  had  nothing  to  do.  Her  con- 
cern was  with  practical  things,  and  conduct  was, 
with  her,  more  than  seven  eighths  of  life.  Even  the 
very  mild  decoction  of  theology  that  was  adminis- 
tered from  Sunday  to  Sunday  in  Chauncy  Place  was 
sometimes  too  much  for  her.  She  was  a practical 
Christian,  if  there  ever  was  oue. 

Her  love  of  nature  was  genuine.  As  a young 
woman  she  could  distinguish  the  colors  of  a flying 
bird.  When  she  had  a house  of  her  own  in  the 
country,  she  preferred  a spot  remote  from  the  world 
of  society ; went  there  as  early  as  possible  iu  the  spring, 
and  stayed  as  late  in  the  autumn  as  she  could.  She 
delighted  in  the  place  ; loved  the  air,  the  trees,  the 
smell  of  the  ground.  She  enjoyed  her  garden;  liked 
to  see  plants  grow.  Every  moruing  after  b^eak- 


1 6 RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

fast  she  went  out  to  inspect  the  grounds,  and  came 
back  laden  with  modest  flowers ; in  the  fall  with 
pine  cones,  the  flame  of  which  she  enjoyed.  On  her 
last  evening,  quite  unaware  of  her  coming  end,  she 
sat  on  the  piazza,  and  looked  at  the  sunset,  wrapped 
in  shawls,  though  it  was  midsummer,  for  she  was 
weak  and  emaciated  but  patiently  tranquil. 

Her  habits  were  simple,  not  from  parsimony  but 
from  taste.  She  cared  nothing  for  decoration  or  dis- 
play. She  spent  no  more  than  was  necessary  on  dress 
or  furniture.  She  was  fond  of  old-fashioned,  solid 
things.  In  the  midst  of  abundance,  her  appetite  was 
for  plain  food,  yet  she  was  no  ascetic  or  prude,  but 
a largehearted,  sensible  woman,  sober  and  serious 
but  genial  too. 

Browning  makes  Paracelsus  say  : 

’T  is  only  when  they  spring  to  heaven  that  angels 
Reveal  themselves  to  you  ; they  sit  all  day 
Beside  you,  and  lie  down  at  night  by  you, — 

Who  care  not  for  their  presence, — muse  or  sleep, 

And  all  at  once  they  leave  you  and  you  know  them. 

This  is  in  a measure  true.  Death  is  a great  re- 
vealer.  Unfortunately  it  is  a great  deceiver  also, 
putting  wings  on  very  earthly  bodies.  But  in  this 
instance,  the  qualities  were  all  there  in  the  living 
form,  and  all  clearly  visible  to  those  who  sat  all  day 
beside  my  mother.  Death  did  but  brush  away  a 
little  film  that  hung  before  distant  eyes. 

Until  near  middle  life  I had  the  example  and  ad- 
vice of  these  dear  spirits.  It  is  my  privilege  to  have 


PARENTAGE. 


17 


their  blood  in  my  veins.  That  was  my  best  endow- 
ment, and  kept  me  always  hopeful  of  a better  future 
in  the  time  to  come.  The  dream  of  a nobler  age  for. 
literature,  art,  science,  humanity,  came  directly  from 
my  father.  The  desire  to  do  something  to  make  the 
dream  an  actual  fact,  to  prove  myself  as  of  some 
service  in  the  world,  came  from  my  mother.  His 
was  the  love  of  intellectual  liberty.  Hers  was  the 
passion  for  practical  accomplishments.  He  was  a 
scholar.  She  was  a worker. 

Both  had  thoughts  deeper  than  they  could  ex- 
press. Both  were  utterly  sincere  in  their  calling, 
and  the  limitations  of  their  age  alone  confined  their 
advance.  The  times  were  quiet  then  ; the  world 
was  small  and  disconnected  ; Boston  was  a little 
place  and  shut  off  even  from  American  cities  by  dif- 
ficulties of  travel  and  by  exorbitant  rates  of  postage. 
Thus  responsibility  was  mainly  confined  to  individu- 
als. There  were  no  wearing  duties ; no  perplexing 
cares ; even  railroad  disturbances  did  not  worry,  for 
there  was  no  railroad  speculation,  and  no  railroad 
system.  Hours  were  early,  dinner  was  at  two  or 
half-past,  tea  at  six  or  seven,  the  evening  ended  at  ten, 
and  was  spent  with  books,  melodious  music,  or  playful 
games  of  amusement,  not  of  instruction.  There  were 
few  social  gatherings ; balls  were  very  rare,  seldom 
lasting  later  than  eleven  o’clock.  There  was  an 
occasional  concert,  and  here  and  there  a theatre,  but 
there  were  no  great  dinner  parties.  Social  problems 
were  exceedingly  simple  ; the  classes  -were  divided  by 


1 8 RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

lines  that  nobody  attempted  to  pass  over.  Socialism 
was  unborn,  and  labor  agitations  were  unknown. 
In  a word,  there  was  such  a thing  as  leisure,  and  tihis 
was  used  chiefly  for  the  cultivation  of  the  mind. 

My  father  was  greatly  interested  in  the  education 
of  his  boys ; watched  all  their  attainments ; taught 
them  French;  encouraged  their  learning  how  to  box, 
and  fence,  and  swim  ; while  my  mother  shed  an  atmos- 
phere of  peace  over  the  whole  household.  She  made 
one  joke  only,  as  far  as  my  memory  serves  me, — and 
I mention  it  here  lest  any  one  should  suppose  there 
was  a lack  of  sunshine  in  her  nature.  My  father 
was  very  fond  of  “ voslauer,”  an  Austrian  red  wine. 
When  the  last  bottle  was  produced  my  mother, 
said  archly,  “ your  face  will  lower  when  it  is  all  drunk 
up.”  It  was  not  much  of  a joke,  but  a small  jest  will 
show  the  spirit  of  fun  quite  as  well  as  a large  one. 

There  was  a singular  combination  of  aspiration 
with  peace  at  that  time.  Probably  there  is  as  much 
aspiration  now  as  there  was  then,  perhaps  more ; 
but  it  is  associated  with  social  reform  rather  than 
with  personal  perfection  ; there  is  peace,  too,  at  the 
present  day,  but  it  is  harder  to  get  at  and  needs  to 
be  sought  most  often  in  private  homes  ; the  inward 
peace  is  found  in  all  periods. 

How  the  principles  then  formed  would  bear  the 
strain  of  a later  age  or  a larger  sphere  remained  to 
be  proved.  Fifty  years  ago  the  modern  era  with  its 
complications  and  perplexities  could  not  even  be 
suspected.  The  foundations  alone  could  then  be  laid. 


II. 


EDUCATION. 

Of  the  primary  schools  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak. 
They  were  of  the  same  kind  that  were  established 
in  Boston  at  that  period.  Indeed  I can  recollect  but 
two,  one,  a child’s  school  of  boys  and  girls,  kept  by 
a Miss  Scott,  at  the  corner  of  Mt.  Vernon  Street  and 
Hancock;  the  other  a boys’  school  kept  by  a Mr. 
Capen,  a poor  hump-backed  cripple  who  could  not  get 
out  of  his  chair,  but  wheeled  himself  about  the  room, 
and  kept  on  his  table  a cowhide,  which  was  pretty 
generously  exercised.  The  school  was  on  Bedford 
Street  behind  the  “ Church  of  Church  Green.”  A 
little  alley-way  ran  along  in  the  rear  of  the  church 
through  which  I used  to  go  to  the  school-house. 

The  Latin  School  was  an  old  institution  brought 
hither  by  Rev.  John  Cotton,  who  remembered  the 
Free  Grammar  School  founded  in  Lincolnshire, 
England,  by  Queen  Mary,  in  which  Latin  and  Greek 
were  taught.  It  was  established  here,  in  1635,  five 
years  after  the  landing  of  Winthrop,  two  or  three 
years  before  Harvard  College.  When  I was  there, 
it  stood  on  School  Street,  opposite  the  Franklin 


19 


20 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


statue.  It  had  a granite  front  and  a cupola.  The 
head-master  was  Charles  K.  Dillaway,  an  excellent 
scholar,  a faithful  teacher,  an  agreeable  man.  He  had 
to  resign  in  consequence  of  ill-health.  The  tutors 
were  Henry  W.  Torrey  and  Francis  Gardner,  who 
afterwards  became  head-master.  Both  were  pupils  of 
tbe  school.  Mr.  Frederick  P.  Leverett,  author  of 
the  Latin  Lexicon,  was  chosen  to  succeed  Mr.  Dilla- 
way, but  died  before  assuming  the  office.  The  next 
head-master,  during  my  course,  was  Epes  Sargent 
Dixwell  a most  accomplished  man,  an  elegant  scholar, 
a gentleman  of  the  world,  very  much  interested,  as 
I remember,  in  the  plastic  art  of  Greece.  He  is  still 
living,  and  amuses  himself  by  writing  Greek.  Mr. 
Dixwell  held  office  till  1851,  when  he  established  a 
private  school.  The  discipline  of  the  Latin  School 
was  strict  but  mild.  Corporal  punishment  was  the 
unquestioned  rule,  but  it  was  never  harshly  admin- 
istered, though  the  knowledge  that  it  might  be  un- 
doubteclly  did  a good  deal  toward  stimulating  the 
ambition  of  the  scholars.  Here  and  there  no  doubt 
a boy  exasperated  the  teacher  by  idleness  or  disor- 
der ; possibly  at  moments  the  teacher  was  nervous 
and  irritable.  I recollect  a single  instance  in  which 
he  was  over-sensitive,  too  prone  to  take  offence, 
which  fastened  suspiciously  upon  some  individual 
scholar;  but  injustice  was  a very  rare  occurrence. 
We  learned  Greek  and  Latin,  the  rudiments  of  alge- 
bra, writing  and  declamation  ; but  the  best  part  of 
the  education  I received  in  those  days  was  an  atmos- 


EDUCATION. 


21 


phere  of  elegant  literature,  derived  from  friends  of 
my  father.  I used  to  see  William  Id.  Prescott  tak- 
ing his  walk  on  Beacon  Street,  in  the  sun,  and  have 
often  sat  in  his  study  in  his  tranquil  hours,  and  heard 
him  talk.  The  beautiful  library  of  George  Ticknor, 
at  the  head  of  Park  Street,  was  open  to  me,  and  I can 
see  his  form  now  as  he  walked  on  the  Common. 
George  S.  Hillard,  the  elegant  man  of  letters,  was  a 
familiar  figure  on  the  street.  Charles  Sumner,  then 
a young  law  student,  strode  vigorously  along,  his 
manner  even  then  suggesting  the  advent  of  a new 
era. 

In  1846,  I listened  to  his  oration  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  University  on  the 
Scholar  [Pickering]  ; the  Jurist  [Story];  the  Artist 
[Allston]  ; the  Philanthropist  [Chauning]  ; and  his 
bold  declamation  was  strangely  in  contrast  with  the 
academical  gown  that  he  wore.  Daniel  Webster 
used  to  stalk  by  our  house,  the  embodiment  of  the 
Constitution,  the  incarnation  of  law,  the  black  loco- 
motive of  the  train  of  civilization.  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson  often  sat  at  my  father’s  table  diffusing  the 
radiance  of  serene  ideas,  and  heralding  the  diviner 
age  that  was  to  come. 

From  the  Latin  School  to  Harvard  College  was  an 

O 

easy  transition.  There  existed  an  impression  that 
Latin-School  boys  might  take  their  ease  for  the  first 
year  at  Cambridge,  because  they  were  so  well  pre- 
pared, but  I found  enough  to  do  ; there  was  the 
great  library,  there  were  the  advanced  studies,  there 


22 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


was  the  more  perfect  training.  The  President  was 
Josiah  Quincy,  the  elder.  Henry  W.  Longfellow 
was  professor  of  modern  languages  ; Cornelius  C. 
Felton,  the  ardent  philhellene,  taught  Greek;  Charles 
Beck,  a German,  taught  Latin  ; Benjamin  Peirce  was 
professor  of  mathematics  ; James  Walker  was  an  in- 
structor in  intellectual  and  moral  philosophy;  Joseph 
Lovering,  teacher  in  chemistry.  Among  the  tutors 
were  Bernard  Roelker,  in  German ; Pietro  Bachi,  in 
Italian  ; Francisco  Sales,  in  Spanish. 

The  new  buildings  now  in  the  college  yard  were 
not  erected;  Holworthy  (1812),  Stoughton  (1804- 
1805), Hollis  (1763),  Harvard  (1766),  Holden  (1734), 
Massachusetts  Hall  (1720),  University  Hall  (1812- 
1813)  were  in  existence.  There  were  no  athletics; 
there  was  no  gymnasium ; there  was  no  boating; 
there  was  little  base-ball.  There  were  few  literary 
societies  ; so  that  we  were  driven  back  mainly  upon 
intellectual  labor.  The  professors’  houses  were 
always  open,  and  there  was  choice  society  in  the 
town.  I recollect  particularly  well  going  to  the 
house  of  John  White  Webster,  who  was  executed 
later  for  the  murder  of  Hr.  Parkman.  He  was  very 
fond  of  music  and  had  a daughter  who  sang  finely, 
besides  beiim  handsome.  She  afterwards  married 

O 

Mr.  Dabney,  of  Fayal.  The  Doctor  was  a nerv- 
ous man,  high  strung,  but  good-natured  and  polite. 
His  fatal  encounter  with  Dr.  Parkman  I always 
attributed  to  a sudden  outbreak  of  passion. 

Within  the  grounds  of  the  college  we  were  quit-e 


EDUCA  TIOJV. 


23 


studious,  companionable  among  ourselves.  There 
was  no  rioting,  no  excess  of  any  kind.  Walking  and 
swimming  in  the  river  Charles  were  our  chief  recre- 
ations. Connection  with  Boston  was  infrequent  and 
difficult,  as  there  was  no  railroad.  The  Sundays 
could  be  passed  in  the  city  if  the  student  brought  a 
certificate  that  he  Avent  regularly  to  church  ; other- 
wise it  was  expected  that  the  First  Church,  or  one 
of  the  others,  should  be  frequented.  The  instruction 
was  of  a cordial,  friendly,  courteous,  and  humane 
kind ; the  professors  were  enthusiastic  students  in 
their  departments.  I well  recollect  Professor  Long- 
fellow’s kindness  ; Professor  Felton’s  ardor  (I  visited 
Pompeii  with  him  in  1853).  Charles  Beck  was  a 
burning  patriot  in  the  war.  Pietro  Bachi’s  great 
eyes  lighted  up  and  glowed  as  he  talked  about  Dante. 
Bernard  Boelker  afterwards  became  a lawyer  in 
New  York.  Charles  Wheeler  and  Robert  Bartlett, 
tutors,  both  rare  spirits,  died  young.  On  the  whole, 
life  at  Harvard  College  was  exceedingly  pleasant, 
and  a real  love  of  learning  was  implanted  in  young 
men’s  bosoms. 

The  corner-stone  of  Gore  Hall  was  laid  in  1813. 
The  books  were  moved  into  the  library  in  the  sum- 
mer vacation  of  1814.  There  were  forty-one  thousand 
volumes  at  that  time. 

In  the  early  part  of  my  career,  I took  my  meals  in 
Commons,  at  an  expense  of  two  dollars  and  a quarter 
a week,  the  highest  price  then  paid.  Commons  was 
abolished  for  a time  in  1849,  it  being  found  difficult 


24 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


to  satisfy  the  students,  who  for  some  years  had 
boarded  in  the  houses  in  the  neighborhood. 

There  were  excitements  too.  Though  there  was 
no  gymnasium,  or  boating,  and  little  foot-ball,  base- 
ball, or  cricket  (these  games  were  all  very  simple 
and  rudimentary),  there  were  the  clubs,  the  “A  A 
still  a secret  society,  and  occupying  a back  upper 
room,  to  which  we  mounted  by  stealth, — the  same 
room  serving  for  initiations  and  sociables, — was  ex- 
ceedingly interesting  in  a literary  point  of  view.  There 
were  papers  on  Scott,  Byron,  Wordsworth,  delightful 
conversations,  anecdotes,  songs. 

The  “Institute  of  1770  ” taught  us  elocution,  and 
readiness  in  debate  ; the  “ $ B K”  no  longer  a secret 
society,  and  no  longer  actively  literary,  hung  over  us 
like  a star,  stimulating  ambition  and  inciting  us  to 
excellence  in  scholarship. 

Altogether  it  was  a delightful  life  ; a life  between 
boyhood  and  manhood  ; of  purely  literary  ambition, 
of  natural  friendship.  There  was  no  distinction  of 
persons,  no  affected  pride.  We  found  our  own  level, 
and  kept  our  own  place.  Money  did  not  distinguish 
or  family,  only  brains.  There  was  no  care  but  for 
intellectual  work  ; there  was  no  excess  save  in  study. 
Expenses  were  small,  indulgences  were  few  and 
simple.  The  education  was  more  suited  to  those 
times  than  to  these,  when  culture  must  be  so  much 
broader,  and  social  expectations  demand  such  varied 
accomplishments. 


III. 


DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 

To  enter  at  once  tlie  Divinity  School  was  to  start 
on  a predestined  career.  From  childhood  I was 
marked  out  for  a clergyman.  This  was  taken  for 
granted  in  all  places  and  conversations,  and  my  own 
thoughts  fell  habitually  into  that  groove.  There 
was  nothing  unattractive  in  the  professional  career 
as  illustrated  by  my  father.  I was  the  only  one  of 
a large  family  of  brothers  who  pursued  the  full 
course  of  studies  at  Cambridge,  or  who  showed  a 
taste  for  the  scholastic  life.  An  appetite  for  books 
rather  than  for  affairs  pointed  first  of  all  to  a literary 
calling,  while  a fondness  for  speculative  cpiestions, 
a leaning  towards  ideal  subjects,  and  a serious  turn 
of  mind  naturally  suggested  at  that  time  the  pulpit. 
An  inward  “ experience  of  religion,”  which  in  some 
other  communions  was  regarded  as  essential  to  the 
character  of  a minister  of  the  gospel,  was  not  de- 
manded. Religion  was  rather  moral  and  intellec- 
tual than  spiritual,  a matter  of  mental  conviction 
more  than  of  emotional  feeling.  The  clerical  profes- 
sion stood  very  high,  higher  than  any  of  the  three 


25 


26 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


“learned  professions,”  by  reason  of  its  requiring  in 
larger  measure  a tendency  towards  abstract  thought, 
an  interest  in  theological  discussions,  and  a steady 
belief  in  doctrines  that  concerned  the  son].  Litera- 
ture was  not  at  that  period  a profession  ; there  was 
no  Art  to  speak  of  except  for  genius  of  the  first 
order  like  that  of  Allston  or  Greenough.  Men  of 
the  highest  intellectual  rank,  whatever  they  may 
have  become  afterwards,  tried  the  ministry  at  the 
start.  The  traditions  of  New  England  favored  the 
ministerial  calling.  The  great  names,  with  here  and 
there  an  exception,  were  names  of  divines.  The 
great  books  were  on  subjects  of  religion  ; the  popu- 
lar interest  centred  in  theological  controversy;  the 
general  enthusiasm  was  aroused  by  preachers ; the 
current  talk  was  about  sermons.  The  clergy  was 
a privileged  class,  aristocratic,  exalted. 

Divinity  Hall  had  been  dedicated  in  August, 
1826.  It  was  situated  on  an  avenue  about  a quarter 
of  a mile  from  the  college  yard.  It  contained,  be- 
sides thirty-seven  chambers  for  the  accommodation 
of  students,  a chapel,  a library,  a lecture-room,  and 
a reading-room;  it  stood  opposite  the  Zoological 
Museum.  Before  it  was  a vacant  space  used  for 
s;ames.  Behind  it  was  meadow  land  reaching  all 
the  way  to  Mr.  Norton’s.  Just  beyond  it  was  Dr. 
Palfrey’s  residence.  George  Rap  all  Noyes,  D.D., 
was  elected  in  May,  1840,  with  the  title  of  “ Hancock 
Professor  of  Hebrew  and  Oriental  Languages,  and 
Dexter  Lecturer  on  Biblical  Literature.”  He  had  al- 


DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 


2/ 


ready  translated  the  poetical  books  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  it  was  his  eminence  as  a translator  which 
had  won  him  fame  while  a minister  at  Petersham. 
It  was  his  duty  also  to  explain  the  New  Testament, 
and  in  addition  to  give  lectures  in  systematic  the- 
ology. Besides  all  this  he  was  to  preach  in  the 
college  chapel  a fourth  of  the  year.  He  steadily 
grew  in  the  respect  and  attachment  of  the  young 
men ; his  authority  in  the  lecture-room  was  very 
great ; his  opinions  were  carefully  formed  and  pre- 
cisely delivered  ; and  his  shrewd,  practical  wisdom 
was  long  remembered  by  his  pupils.  Con  vers 
Francis,  H.D.,  appointed  to  the  “ Parkman  Profes- 
sorship,” after  the  resignation  of  Henry  Ware,  Jr., 
was  his  associate.  The  branches  assigned  to  him 
were  ecclesiastical  history,  natural  theology,  ethics, 
the  composition  of  sermons,  and  instruction  in  the 
duties  of  a pastor ; besides  all  this  he  was  to  preach 
half  of  the  time  in  the  college  chapel.  Hr.  Francis 
was  an  accomplished  scholar  and  a faithful  teacher. 
The  best  man,  too,  for  his  position,  at  a time  when 
in  an  unsectarian  school  it  was  exceedingly  desirable 
that  the  professors  should  harmonize  all  tendencies; 
for  with  a strong  sympathy  with  “transcendental- 
ism,” as  it  was  then  called,  he  had  been  a most  suc- 
cessful parish  minister,  a very  acceptable  preacher, 
and  a man  in  whom  all  the  churches  had  confidence. 

At  Cambridge,  owing  to  the  influence  of  Buck- 
minster, Ware,  and  Norton,  Unitarian  opinion  pre- 
vailed, though  the  controversial  period  had  passed 


28 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


by  when  I was  there.  The  clouds  of  warfare  no 
longer  discharged  lightning;  there  was  no  roll  of 
thunder  ; only  a faint  muttering  betrayed  the  former 
excitement ; and  the  memory  of  old  conflicts  hov- 
ered round  the  spots  where  the  fights  had  been  hot- 
test. Marks  of  strife  were  still  visible  on  texts, 
and  chapters  were  scarred  with  wounds.  Comment 
still  lingered  near  the  passages  where  polemics  had 
raged,  and  the  blood  burned  as  we  read  the  tracts  or 
studied  the  essays  of  the  champions  we  admired. 

It  was  impossible  to  forget  the  interpretations 
that  had  been  given  to  words  or  phrases.  A strictly 
scientific  study,  either  of  the  Bible  or  the  creed,  was 
therefore  out  of  the  question.  But  the  course  of 
exercises  was  broad,  generous,  inclusive,  as  far  as 
this  was  feasible.  The  bias  was  decidedly  unortho- 
dox, yet  without  the  bitter  temper  of  opposition. 
The  old  system  was  rather  set  aside  than  attacked. 
It  was  assumed  to  have  been  vanquished  in  the  fair 
field.  The  professors  were  liberal  in  their  views.  A 
small  but  serviceable  library  furnished  the  students 
with  a certain  amount  of  needed  material,  the  col- 
lege library  was  freely  opened  to  them,  and  the 
collections  of  the  professors  were  gladly  placed  at 
their  disposal.  The  days  were  fully  occupied  with 
lectures,  recitations,  discussions,  exercises  in  writing 
out  and  taking  of  notes.  Once  a week  there  was  a de- 
bate  on  some  o-eneral  theme  not  connected  with  the 

O 

topics  of  the  class-room  ; and  at  the  latter  part  of  the 
course  there  was  special  training  in  the  composition 


DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 


29 


and  delivery  of  sermons,  accompanied  by  a brief 
experience  of  extemporaneous  speaking.  The  Uni- 
tarian ministry  was  alone  contemplated  ; no  wide 
divergence  from  it  was  encouraged,  and  the  con- 
servative methods  of  interpretation  were  the  ones 
recommended.  Some  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin 
being  presupposed,  the  study  of  Hebrew  was  made 
the  one  study  of  language,  and  this  was  pursued 
with  the  best  available  helps.  Biblical  criticism 
naturally  took  a prominent  place  in  the  current 
curriculum,  under  the  guidance  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished authorities ; books  of  every  school  were 
recommended,  whether  old  or  new,  Catholic  or 
Protestant,  u conservative  ” or  “ liberal,”  Horne,  Tho- 
luck,  De  Wette  being  consulted  in  turn.  The  New 
Testament  aud  “ Historical  Christianity'”  were  taken 
for  granted ; and  these  meant  belief  in  miracles, 
which  were  defended  against  rising  objections  of 
the  Strauss  and  Paulus  schools,  the  former  holding 
by  the  “ mythical  ” theory,  the  latter  favoring  the 
notion  of  a natural  explanation  of  some  sort.  The 
hostility  towards  rationalism  was  decided.  This 
was  forty  years  ago,  before  the  “ historical  method,” 
as  it  was  called,  instituted  by  Baur,  Schwegler, 
Zeller,  Sneckenburger,  and  the  Tlieologische  Jalir- 
bucher , had  any  expositor  in  this  country,  long 
before  the  Dutch  school,  the  later  French  school — 
Kuenen,  Reville,  Reuss,  Nicolas,  Renan,— came  out. 
The  great  issue  was  the  credibility  of  the  miracles 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments. 


30 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


The  half -monastic  life  we  led  at  Divinity  Hall  cut 
us  off  a good  deal  from  social  amenities,  reform  agi- 
tations, attempts  to  change  institutions,  and  even 
from  the  deeper  currents  of  religious  sentiment. 
None  but  the  very  observant  took  note  of  Brook 
Farm,  or  heeded  the  movements  in  behalf  of  Asso- 
ciation that  were  going  on  in  other  communities. 
Whatever  was  outside  of  the  “ Christian  ” ministry 
concerned  us  but  little.  The  professors  did  not 
direct  our  eyes  to  the  mountain  tops  or  call  atten- 
tion to  the  bringers  of  good  tidings  from  other  quar- 
ters than  the  Christian  Revelation,  as  explained  by 
its  scholars  and  writers.  Even  such  a phenomenon 
as  Emerson  did  not  make  a profound  impression  on 
the  average  mind. 

A tone  of  old-fashioned  piety  pervaded  the  estab- 
lishment. A weekly  prayer-meeting,  always  attended 
by  one  of  the  professors,  though  officially  rather 
than  as  a stimulator,  was  much  in  the  manner  and 
spirit  of  similar  exercises  at  Andover.  The  students 
were  cautioned  against  excessive  intellectualism. 
Several  of  them  spent  their  Sundays  in  teaching 
classes  of  the  young  in  the  neighboring  towns,  in 
ministering  to  the  sick  in  hospitals,  or  in  carrying 
the  monitions  of  conscience  to  the  criminals  in  the 
prison  at  Charlestown.  The  aims  of  a practical  min- 
istry were  thus  kept  in  view  as  well  as  the  circum- 
stances of  the  time  permitted.  Of  course  the  school 
could  not  be  a philanthropic  institution  any  more 
than  it  could  be  independent  or  scientific.  It  was 


DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 


31 


committed  to  a special  purpose,  which  was  the  sup- 
ply of  Christian  pulpits  with  instructed,  earnest, 
devoted  men.  That  they  should  be  Unitarians  was 
expected ; that  they  should  be  Christians  in  belief 
was  demanded.  There  were  two  ever-present  spectres, 
“orthodoxy”  and  “rationalism,”  the  one  represented 
by  Andover,  the  other  by  Germany.  Audacity  of  spec- 
ulation when  unaccompanied  by  practical  piety  was 
discountenanced,  and  in  flagrant  instances  rebuked. 

The  literal  form  of  the  orthodox  creed,  it  need 
hardly  be  said,  was  made  more  prominent  than  its 
imaginative  aspect.  This  was  inevitable,  for  the 
object  was  to  assail  it  rather  than  to  understand  it. 
To  be  perfectly  fair  to  all  sides  was,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, not  to  be  expected  at  a period  so  near 
the  era  of  controversy.  An  earnest,  ingenuous 
youth  could  find  at  Cambridge  all  the  courage  and 
impulse  he  needed,  for  the  atmosphere  of  the  place 
was  neither  chilling  nor  depressing.  The  less  emo- 
tional, more  intellectual  scholar  was  left  to  pursue 
his  studies  undisturbed,  the  wind  of  spiritual  feel- 
ing not  being  strong  enough  to  carry  him  away. 

I11  a word,  the  institution  was  all  that  could  have 
been  looked  for  in  a time  when  ecclesiastical  and 
doctrinal  traditions  were  fatally  though  not  con- 
fessedly broken,  and  naked  individualism  was  not 
avowedly  adopted.  The  task  of  the  professors, 
conscientious,  hard  working,  utterly  faithful  men, 
was  laborious,  difficult,  and  thankless.  The  Unita- 
rian public,  fearing  a tendency  to  unbelief,  gave 


32 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


them  a grudging  confidence  ; the  students,  I am 
afraid,  were  not  considerate  of  them, — the  zealous 
finding  them  lukewarm,  the  cold-blooded  blaming 
them  for  stopping  short  of  the  last  consequences  of 
their  own  theory.  It  is  wonderful  that  the  school 
went  on  at  all.  The  single-minded  devotion  of  the 
teachers  alone  preserved  it.  Looking  thoughtfully 
back  across  a wide  gulf  of  years,  the  writer  of  these 
pages  feels  that  he  owes  this  tribute  to  Convers 
Francis  and  George  R.  Noyes.  How  often  he  has 
wished  he  could  take  them  by  the  hand  and  ask 
their  forgiveness  for  his  frequent  misjudgment  of 
them,  misjudgment  the  remembrance  of  which  makes 
his  heart  bleed  the  more  as  he  can  only  think  of 
their  generous  forbearance.  Their  influence  was 
emancipating  and  stimulating.  They  were  friendly 
to  thought.  Under  their  ministration  the  mind  took 
a leap  forward  towards  the  confines  of  the  Christian 
system  of  faith.  What  the  divinity  school  of  the 
future  may  be  able  to  accomplish  it  would  be  haz- 
ardous to  conjecture.  It  could  hardly  then  have 
done  more  than  it  did. 

The  study  of  comparative  religions,  so  zealously 
prosecuted  within  a few  years,  together  with  a de- 
sire to  do  perfect  justice  to  orthodox  doctrines,  may 
render  practical  a scientific  review  of  theological 
systems,  but  in  this  event  a predilection  in  favor  of 
a separate  “ Christian  ” ministry  can  be  no  longer 
characteristic  of  a divinity  school  which  proposes  to 
prepare  young  men  for  the  clerical  calling. 


DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 


33 


The  three  years  of  secluded  life  passed  quickly 
away.  The  trial  sermon  in  the  village  church  was 
delivered  and  criticised.  The  President  of  the  col- 
lege then  was  Edward  Everett,  my  uncle.  The  next 
morning  I went  to  his  office  ; he  spoke  warmly  of 
my  sermon,  but  advised  me  henceforth  to  commit 
sermons  to  memory  as  he  did.  This  I tried  two  or 
three  times,  but  the  effort  to  write  the  sermons  so 
fatigued  me  that  the  task  of  committing  them  to 
memory  was  too  great,  and  for  years  I wrote  my 
discourses,  until  for  convenience’  sake  I learned  to 
preach  without  notes.  The  diploma  was  bestowed, 
the  actual  ministry  was  begun.  The  term  of  preach- 
ing as  a candidate  did  not  last  long.  By  the  advice 
of  friends  an  invitation  was  accepted  to  an  old  estab- 
lished conservative  parish  in  Salem,  Mass.  Ordina- 
tion and  marriage  soon  followed,  and  public  life  was 
inaugurated  under  the  most  promising  conditions. 
I had  the  best  wishes  of  the  conservative  portion  of 
the  community  to  which  I was,  properly,  supposed 
to  belong,  and  the  hopes  of  the  radical  portion  who 
anticipated  a change  of  view  as  time  went  on,  and  I 
was  brought  into  sharper  collision  with  prevailing 
habits  of  thought  than  was  possible  at  Cambridge, 
where  the  student  was  in  a great  measure  cut  off 
from  intercourse  with  the  world. 

At  the  “ Divinity  School  ” I was  known  as  a 
young  man  with  conservative  ideas.  I remember 
now  discussions,  essays,  criticisms,  in  which  the  opin- 
ions in  vogue  among  old-fashioned  Unitarians  were 

3 


34 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


defended  somewhat  passionately  against  the  more 
daring  convictions  of  my  companions.  In  especial 
my  faith  was  in  direct  opposition  to  the  spiritual 
philosophy  ; Strauss  was  a horror ; Parker  was  a 
bugbear;  Furness  seemed  an  innovator;  Emerson 
was  a “ Transcendentalist,”  a term  of  immeasurable 
reproach.  All  this  was  soon  to  pass  away,  and  I 
was  to  go  a great  deal  beyond  even  Parker.  The 
word  “ Transcendentalist  ” ceased  to  be  a synonym 
for  “ enthusiast.”  The  philosophy  of  intuition  was 
first  literally  adopted,  then  dismissed,  and  I came 
out  where  I least  expected.  But  I well  remember, 
one  eveniug  as  I wras  walking  out  from  Boston,  pre- 
senting to  myself  distinctly  the  alternative  between 
the  adoption  of  the  old  and  the  new.  I am  afraid 
that  the  old  commended  itself  by  its  venerableness, 
the  solidity  of  its  traditions,  and  the  authority  of  its 
great  names,  while  the  new  was  still  vague  and  form- 
less. I then  and  there  decided  to  follow  in  the 
footsteps  of  my  fathers,  a course  more  in  sympathy 
with  the  prevailing  temper  of  the  age  and  with  the 
current  of  thought  at  Divinity  Hall,  though  Em- 
erson had  delivered  his  address  some  years  before, 
and  the  New  Jerusalem  was  even  then  coming  down 
from  heaven. 


IV. 


SALEM. 

Old  Salem  was  a city  of  the  imagination.  History 
does  it  no  justice.  The  “ Essex  Institute,”  founded 
in  1848,  by  the  union  of  the  “Essex  County  His- 
torical Society  ” and  the  “ Essex  County  Natural 
History  Society,”  has  a very  fine  collection  of  books, 
pamphlets,  manuscripts,  an  invaluable  museum,  rel- 
ics, pictures,  so  that  in  no  locality  in  the  country 
has  so  much  been  accomplished  in  exhuming  the 
treasures  of  municipal  and  civil  history,  and  in 
bringing  to  light  antiquities.  Hurd’s  “ History  of 
Essex  County,”  published  in  1888,  with  its  mono- 
graphs on  commerce,  religion,  literature,  newspapers, 
etc.,  written  by  thoroughly  competent  men,  throws 
a flood  of  light  on  the  past  of  the  place.  Mr.  Up- 
ham’s  “Memoir  of  Francis  Peabody,”  published  in 
1868,  gives  an  admirable  account  of  the  literary 
eminence  of  the  old  town.  Colonel  Higginson’s 
article  in  Harper's  Monthly  on  “ Old  Salem’s  Sea 
Captains,”  published  in  September,  1886,  gives 
something  of  its  romantic  character.  But  best  of  all 
as  illustrating  this  feature  are  the  articles  written 


35 


36 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


by  “ Eleanor  Putnam  ” (Mrs.  Arlo  Bates),  and  re- 
publisbed  after  her  death  under  the  title  of  “ Old 
Salem,”  in  1887.  She  was  about  thirty  years  old 
when  she  died  ; but  if  she  had  lived  she  would  have 
presented  the  old  city  in  its  quaintest  aspect.  Her 
love  of  antiquarian  research,  her  taste,  her  devotion 
to  Salem  qualified  her  in  an  eminent  degree  for  her 
self-appointed  task. 

There  can  hardly  be  a doubt  that  the  origins  of 
the  town  were  religious ; that  a religious  purpose, 
deep  though  undefined  and  undeclared,  animated 
the  emigrants  before  Winthrop.  The  very  name, 
Salem,  the  Hebrew  for  peacefulness,  instead  of 
“ Naumkeag  ” (the  old  Indian  name),  adopted  in 
1628,  to  commemorate  the  reconciliation  between 
the  company  of  Roger  Conant  and  that  of  John 
Endicott,  was  already  suggestive  of  spiritual  quali- 
ties. Eminent  forms  loom  up  in  the  distance  : F rancis 
HmMnson,  the  first  minister  of  Massachusetts  Bav; 

UU  s ' v 

Roger  Williams,  whose  name  is  identified  with 
“soul  freedom”;  Hugh  Peters,  his  opponent.  John 
Endicott  was  a most  imposing  figure;  hasty,  rash, 
choleric  (as  was  shown  by  his  striking  a man  in 
early  life),  imperious,  but  brave  and  bold.  He  was 
a stern  Puritan,  hating  popery  so  much  that  he  cut 
out  the  imao;e  of  the  kino;  from  the  English  banner, 
because  it  was  an  image,  'while  at  the  same  time  he 
persecuted  the  Quakers,  because  they  advocated 
obedience  to  the  “ inner  light  ” and  were  disturbers 
of  the  established  peace.  But  he  had  sweeter  quali- 


SALEM. 


3 7 


ties — gentleness,  generosity,  and  kindness.  An  old 
scripture  (Ecclesiasticus  xi.,  28)  says:  “Judge  none 
blessed  before  bis  death ; for  a man  shall  be  known 
in  his  children.”  The  descendants  of  John  Endicott 
are  graceful,  elegant,  refined  people,  lovely  in  man- 
ners, gentle  in  disposition.  The  root  of  these  quali- 
ties must  have  been  in  the  forefather  two  centuries 
and  a half  ago.  The  intellectual  history  of  the  city 
is  very  illustrious  and  began  early.  A strong  intel- 
lectual bent  characterized  the  early  settlers,  who 
were  persons  of  inquisitive  minds,  addicted  to  experi- 
ments and  enterprises,  exceedingly  ingenious.  Near 
the  middle  of  the  last  century  there  was  in  existence 
in  Salem  a social  evening  club,  composed  of  eminent 
cultivated  and  accomplished  citizens.  On  the  even- 
ing of  Monday,  March  31,  1760,  a meeting  was 
held  at  the  Tavern  House  of  a Mrs.  Pratt  for  the 
purpose  of  “ founding  in  the  town  of  Salem  a hand- 
some library  of  valuable  books,  apprehending  the 
same  may  be  of  considerable  use  and  benefit  under 
proper  regulations.”  The  books  imported,  given,  or 
bought,  amounted  to  four  hundred  and  fifteen  vol- 
umes. This  society,  which  may  be  regarded  as  the 
foundation  of  all  the  institutions  and  agencies  estab- 
lished in  this  place  to  promote  intellectual  culture, 
was  incorporated  in  1797.  In  1766,  the  famous 
Count  Rumford  was  an  apprentice  here.  In  1781, 
Richard  Kirwan,  LL.D.,  of  Dublin,  an  eminent 
philosopher  of  the  period,  had  a valuable  library  in 
a vessel  which  was  captured  by  an  American  private 


38 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


armed  ship  and  brought  into  Beverly  as  a prize.  The 
books  were  given  by  Dr.  Kirwan,  who  would  accept 
no  gratuity  and  was  delighted  that  his  volumes  were 
put  to  so  good  a use.  The  books  were  sold  to  an 
association  of  gentlemen  in  Salem  and  its  neighbor- 
hood, and  formed  the  “ Philosophical  Library.”  This 
and  the  “ Social  Library  ” were  afterwards  consoli- 
dated into  the  “Salem  Athenaeum,”  which  was  in- 
corporated in  March,  1810. 

Among  the  distinguished  men  were  William  H. 
Prescott,  Benjamin  Peirce,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne, 
John  Lewis  Russell,  Charles  Grafton  Page,  and  Jones 
Very.  Here  lived  Edward  Augustus  Holyoke,  presi- 
dent of  the  Massachusetts  Medical  Society  and  the 
American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences ; Timothy 
Pickering,  Rev.  John  Prince,  Rev.  William  Bentley, 
Nathaniel  Bowditch,  author  of  the  “Practical  Navi- 
gator ” and  translator  of  the  “ Mecanique  Celeste  ” ; 
John  Pickering,  Joseph  Story,  of  the  Supreme  Bench ; 
Daniel  Appleton  White,  Leverett  Saltonstall,  Ben- 
jamin Merrill,  and  many  another  man  of  accom- 
plishments and  learning.  Even  the  uneducated,  and 
those  engaged  in  the  common  occupations  of  every- 
day life,  gratified  their  love  of  knowledge,  and  fol- 
lowed up,  for  their  private  enjoyment,  researches  in 
intellectual  and  philosophical  spheres ; apothecaries 
and  retail  shopkeepers  distinguished  themselves  as 
writers ; one  of  them— Isaac  Newhall  by  name — was 
reputed  the  author  of  the  famous  “Junius  Letters,” 
thus  enjoying  companionship  with  Burke,  Gibbon, 


SALEM. 


39 


Grattan,  Camden,  Chatham,  Chesterfield,  and  other 
distinguished  writers. 

Its  commercial  history  was  exceedingly  brilliant. 
In  its  palmy  days  it  had  more  trade  with  the  East 
Indies  than  all  the  other  American  ports  put  together. 
Its  situation  by  the  sea  encouraged  maritime  adven- 
ture. From  its  very  infancy  its  inhabitants  sent 
vessels  across  the  Atlantic  of  forty  to  sixty  tons,  and 
followed  up  the  trade  with  Spain,  France,  Italy,  and 
the  West  India  Islands.  In  the  war  of  the  Revolu- 
tion it  sent  out  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  armed 
ships,  mounting  at  least  two  thousand  guns,  and  car- 
rying not  less  than  six  thousand  men.  In  1785,  Salem 
sent  out  the  first  vessel  to  the  Isle  of  France,  Calcutta, 
and  China ; she  began  also  the  trade  to  the  other 
ports  of  the  East  Indies  and  Japan ; to  Madagascar 
and  Zanzibar,  Brazil  and  Africa.  In  the  south  seas, 
Salem  ships  first  visited  the  Fiji  Islands  ; they 
first  opened  up  to  our  commerce  New  Holland  and 
New  Zealand.  In  the  war  of  1812  she  had  two 
hundred  and  fifty  privateers.  When  the  war  was 
over,  these  vessels  were  engaged  in  the  merchant 
service.  Mr.  E.  IF  Derby,  one  of  the  great  merchants, 
said  to  be  the  richest  man  in  America,  sent  out  thirty- 
seven  vessels  in  fourteen  years,  making  a hundred 
and  twenty  voyages.  The  names  of  the  great  mer- 
chants, E.  H.  Derby,  N.  Silsbee,  William  Gray,  Pea- 
body, Crowningshield,  Pickman,  Cleveland,  Cabot, 
Higginson,  are  of  universal  celebrity.  Then  Derby 
Street  was  alive  with  sea-captains,  the  custom-house 


40 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


was  active,  the  tall  warehouses  were  full  of  treasures, 
the  great  East  Indiamen  fairly  made  the  air  fragrant 
as  they  unloaded  their  merchandise.  To  quote  the 
language  of  “ Eleanor  Putnam  ” : “There  was  poetry 
in  the  names  of  the  vessels — the  ship  Lotus , the 
Black  Warrior , the  brig  Persia , the  Light  Horse , 
the  Three  Friends , and  the  great  Grand  Turk. 
There  was,  too,  a charm  about  the  cargoes.  They 
were  no  common-place  bales  of  merchandise,  but 
were  suggestive  in  their  very  names  of  the  sweet, 
strange  odors  of  the  East,  from  which  they  came. 
There  was  food  for  the  imagination  in  the  mention 
of  those  ship-loads  of  gum  copal  from  Madagascar 
and  Zanzibar;  of  hemp  and  iron  from  Russia;  of 
Bombay  cotton ; of  ginger,  pepper,  coffee,  and  sugar 
from  India  ; of  teas,  silks,  and  nankeens  from  China; 
salt  from  Cadiz ; and  fruits  from  the  ports  of  the 
Mediterranean.” 

Miss  Putnam  speaks  of  the  gorgeous  fans,  the 
carved  ivory,  the  blue  Canton  china,  the  generous 
tea-cups,  the  tureens,  the  heavy  tankards,  the  Delft 
jars,  the  ancient  candle-sticks,  the  heavy  punch  bowls, 
the  strange  beads,  suggestive  of  the  Hindoo  rites, 
Nautch  dances,  and  women  with  dusky  throats. 
Then  the  very  air  was  weighty  with  romantic  adven- 
tures. We  read  with  awe  of  cashmere  shawls  hang- 
ing on  clothes  lines,  of  jars  full  of  silver  coin,  of  the 
gilded  fishes  on  the  side  of  each  stair,  of  the  grand 
staircase  in  the  front  hall  of  Mr.  Pickman’s  house  on 
Essex  Street,  of  logs  of  sandal-wood.  The  museum 


SALEM. 


41 


of  the  East  India  Marine  Society  contains  sceptres 
from  the  Fiji  Islands ; a musical  instrument  from 
New  South  Wales,  another  from  Borneo;  a carved 
statue  of  a rich  Persian  merchant  of  Bombay ; an 
alabaster  figure  of  a Chinese  Jos ; a copper  idol  from 
Java;  a mirror  from  Japan;  fans  from  Maraba,  the 
Marquesas  Islands,  Calcutta;  cloth  from  Otaheite; 
an  earthen  patera  from  Herculaneum ; two  dresses 
of  women  from  the  Pelew  Islands  ; sandal-wood  from 
the  Sandwich  Islands ; a parasol  from  Calcutta ; nut- 
megs from  Cayenne ; thirty -six  specimens  of  Italian 
marble ; cement  from  the  palace  of  the  Caesars  at 
Home ; white  marble  from  Carthage ; porphyry  from 
Italy;  beads  worn  by  the  Pundits  and  Fakirs  in  In- 
dia; a glass  cup  from  Owyhee;  Verde  Antico  from 
Sicily;  sandal-wood  tapers  from  China ; wood  images 
of  mummies  from  Thebes ; a silver  box  from  Soo-Soo ; 
porphyry  from  Madagascar ; a piece  of  mosaic  from 
ancient  Carthage ; silk  cocoons  from  India ; marble 
from  the  temple  of  Minerva  at  Athens ; piece  of 
pavement  from  the  site  of  ancient  Troy;  and  polished 
jasper  from  Siberia. 

When  I was  in  Salem,  from  1847  to  1855,  this 
splendor  had  departed.  Derby  Street  was  deserted, 
the  great  warehouses  were  tenements  for  laborers. 
Hawthorne  has  described  the  custom-house  in  his 
famous  preface  to  the  “ Scarlet  Letter.”  The  sailors 
had  disappeared ; the  commerce,  owing  mainly  to 
the  shallowness  of  the  water  in  the  harbor,  had  gone 
to  Boston  and  New  York.  But  traces  of  the  old 


42 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


glory  still  lingered.  Here  and  there  a great  mer- 
chant was  seen  on  the  streets.  Some  of  the  old 
houses  remained  : the  Pickering:  House  on  Broad 
Street,  built  in  1651  ; the  Turner  House ; Roger 
Williams’  house,  at  the  corner  of  Essex  and  North 
Streets,  built  before  1 634 ; and  Mr.  Forrester’s 
house. 

As  the  chairman  of  the  Salem  Lyceum,  it  was  my 
privilege  to  entertain  such  men  as  R.  W.  Emerson, 
George  W.  Curtis  and  others.  Thomas  Starr  King, 
when  he  lectured  in  Danvers,  drove  over  to  my 
house  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne  I used  to  meet  frecpiently  on  the  street. 
I often  saw  Mrs.  Hawthorne  leading  her  children  by 
the  hand.  Mr.  Hawthorne,  who  was  in  Salem  from 
1846  to  1849,  was  remarkable  for  his  shyness.  His 
favorite  companions  were  some  Democratic  politi- 
cians, who  met  weekly  at  the  office  of  one  of  them, 
where  he  occupied  himself  in  listening  to  their  talk, 
but  he  avoided  cultivated  people.  On  one  occasion 
a friend  of  mine  asked  us  to  meet  him  at  dinner ; 
twice  he  went  to  remind  his  amest  of  the  eno-asre- 
meut.  The  hour  arrived,  the  dinner  was  kept  wait- 
ing half  an  hour  for  Mr.  Hawthorne  to  come.  He 
said  but  little  during  the  dinner,  and  immediately 
afterward  got  up  and  went  away ; his  reluctance  to 
meet  people  overcoming  his  sense  of  propriety. 

My  church,  the  “ North  Church,”  as  it  was  called, 
was  a handsome  building  on  the  main  street,  a stone 
structure  with  a tower,  and  a green  before  it.  It 


SALEM. 


43 


was  founded  in  1772  by  people  who  had  left  the 
First  Parish  by  reason  of  great  dissatisfaction.  The 
first  minister,  called  in  1773,  was  Thomas  Barnard. 
He  was  a broad-minded,  liberal  man,  and  left  the 
church  substantially  Unitarian.  His  successor  was 
J.  E.  Abbot,  called  in  1815,  whose  ministry,  from 
ill-health,  was  very  short.  My  predecessor,  John 
Brazer,  a cultivated,  scholarly,  sensitive  man,  a good 
preacher,  an  excellent  pastor,  was  settled  in  1820. 
My  ministry  there  was  exceedingly  pleasant  and 
tranquil  for  several  years.  There  were  long  hours 
for  studying ; the  parish  work  was  not  hard ; the 
people  were  honest,  quiet,  sober,  some  of  them  ex- 
ceedingly refined  and  gentle  ; it  was  as  if  the  old 
Puritan  spirit,  modified  by  time,  still  lingered  about 
the  old  town.  Family  life  was  beautiful  to  see ; the 
homes  were  charming ; there  was  luxury  enough  ; 
there  was  great  intelligence,  singular  activity  of 
mind  ; and  I remember  well  the  bright  conversa- 
tions, the  entertainments,  the  teas,  the  dinners,  the 
receptions,  the  social  meetings.  The  women,  espe- 
cially, were  distinguished  for  interest  in  literary 
matters.  Many  interesting  people  still  lived  in  the 
town,  Daniel  Appleton  White,  for  instance,  Dr. 
Treadwell,  Benjamin  Merrill,  Thomas  Cole  ; some  of 
these  were  my  parishioners  and  all  were  my  friends. 
But  the  life  was  almost  too  quiet  for  me,  as  circum- 
stances presently  proved. 

At  the  same  time,  as  if  to  render  impossible  my 
further  ministration  in  this  first  place  of  service,  the 


44 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


anti-slavery  agitation  was  at  its  height,  dividing 
churches,  breaking  up  sects,  setting  the  members  of 
families  against  each  other,  detaching  ministers  from 
their  congregations,  and  arraying  society  in  hostile 
camps.  The  noise  of  the  conflict  filled  the  air.  It 
was  impossible  to  evade  the  issue.  Those  who  had 
fixed  positions  in  the  community,  were  of  a tranquil 
temperament,  or  of  an  easy  conscience,  might  survey 
the  battle  calmly,  or  be  vexed  only  by  the  confusion 
in  the  social  world  ; but  they  who  had  the  future 
still  before  them  could  not  but  feel  the  necessity  of 
taking  sides  in  the  quarrel.  When  Garrison,  the 
incarnate  conscience,  was  enunciating  the  moral  law 
and  illustrating  it  by  flaming  texts  from  the  Old 
Testament ; when  the  intrepid  Phillips  was  throw- 
ing the  light  of  history  on  politics,  and  putting 
statesmanship  in  the  face  of  humanity,  judging  all 
men  by  the  maxims  of  ethical  philosophy  ; when 
Parker  was  proclaiming  the  absolute  justice,  and 
Clarke  was  applying  the  truths  of  the  eternal  love  ; 
and  many  others,  men  and  women,  were  thundering 
forth  the  divine  vengeance  on  iniquity;  when  facts 
were  set  out  for  everybody’s  reading,  and  tongues 
were  unloosed,  and  fiery  messages  proceeded  from  all 
mouths,  and  conviction  was  deep,  and  eloquence  was 
stirring,  it  was  impossible  to  be  still. 

Now  the  situation  is  changed  ; the  evil  is  removed ; 
the  wound  has  healed  ; the  surgeon’s  knife  has  been 
put  up  in  its  case.  A new  philosophy  is  disposed  to 
blame  the  action  of  the  anti-slavery  champions.  Some 


SALEM . 


45 


critics  have  doubted  whether  the  conduct  of  the 
abolitionists  was  wise  ; whether  their  primary  as- 
sumption of  the  political  equality  of  all  men  was 
correct ; whether  a race  that  had  never  founded 
a government  or  contributed  to  the  advance  of  civi- 
lization could  add  any  weight  to  the  cause  of  liberty. 
But  then  such  misgivings  could  not  be  raised.  The 
abolitionists  seemed  to  have  on  their  side  the  pre- 
cepts of  the  New  Testament,  the  teachings  of  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  the  character  and  example  of 
Jesus,  the  burning  language  of  prophecy,  the  inspir- 
ing traditions  of  primitive  Christianity,  the  humane 
instincts  of  the  heart,  the  moral  sentiments  of  equity, 
pity,  compassion,  all  reinforced  by  the  growing 
democratic  opinion  of  the  age,  and  by  the  tenets  of 
the  intuitive  philosophy  then  coming  to  the  front. 
The  glowing  passages  from  Isaiah  and  from  Mat- 
thew : “ Let  the  oppressed  go  free ; break  every 

yoke  ” ; “ Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  ye  did  it  unto  me,”  shone  in  our  eyes. 
To  the  anti-slavery  people  belonged  the  heroic  vir- 
tues, courage,  faithfulness,  and  sacrifice.  Theirs  was 
the  martyr  spirit ; the  readiness  to  surrender  ease, 
position,  and  success  for  an  idea.  It  would  have 
been  strange  if,  at  such  a time,  a young  man,  a 
clergyman,  too,  had  been  a champion  of  vested  in- 
terests. The  doctrine  of  a higher  law  than  that 
of  the  State  commended  itself  to  his  idealism,  and 
pledged  him  to  oppose  what  he  regarded  as  legalized 
wrong.  The  doctrine  of  legal  rights  for  all  men 


46  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

made  him  a firm  enemy  of  organized  inhumanity. 
It  was  a period  of  passionate  war.  In  every  depart- 
ment of  the  Church  and  State  the  irrepressible 
conflict  went  on.  It  was  no  time  for  the  calm  voice 
of  the  loving  spirit  of  wisdom  to  be  heard.  It  was 
no  time  to  propose  that  the  local  laws  respecting 
slavery  should  be  remodelled,  and  the  relation 
between  whites  and  blacks  readjusted  on  more  equit- 
able principles.  The  science  of  anthropology  had  no 
weight  in  America  or  anywhere  else.  Xo  exhaustive 
study  of  race  peculiarities  could  be  entered  on.  The 
combatants  had  the  whole  field,  and  between  the 
combatants  there  seemed  to  be  no  room  for  choice 
by  a minister  of  the  Gospel,  an  enthusiastic  friend  of 
humanity,  a democrat,  and  a transcendentalist. 

On  one  occasion,  after  a brutal  scene  in  Boston 
attending  the  return  of  a slave  to  his  master,  feeling 
that  the  larger  part  of  his  congregation  were  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  government,  and  approved  of  the  act 
of  surrender,  the  excited  minister  declined  to  give 
the  ordinance  of  communion,  thinking  it  would  be 
a mockery.  This  action  brought  the  growing  disaf- 
fection to  a head.  The  feeling  of  the  parish  was 
divided.  Bitter  words  were  exchanged.  The  situ- 
ation on  both  sides  became  uncomfortable,  and  he 
accepted  an  invitation  to  another  city,  where  he 
could  exercise  his  independence  without  check  or 
limit. 

The  position  in  regard  to  slavery  which  was 
taken  thirty  years  ago  there  is  no  room  to  regret. 


SALEM. 


47 


It  was  taken  with  perfect  sincerity,  and  under  an 
uncontrollable  pressure  of  conviction.  The  part  per- 
formed by  the  abolitionists  was  predestined.  The 
conduct  of  their  opponents  looks  now  as  irrational 
as  it  did  then.  American  slavery  was  so  atrocious  a 
system,  so  hideous  a blot,  that  no  terms  were  to  be 
kept  with  it.  Probably  nothing  but  the  surgeon’s 
knife  would  have  availed  in  dealing  with  such 
a cancerous  mass.  The  cord  had  become  so  fatally 
twisted  that  the  knot,  too  closely  drawn  to  be 
untied,  must  be  cut  with  the  sword.  The  abolition 
of  slavery  was  inevitable ; it  came  about  through  a 
great  elemental  upheaval.  The  situation  had  be- 
come intolerable  and  was  past  reforming.  Long 
before  the  war,  it  had  become  impossible  to  get 
along  with  the  slaveholders,  except  on  the  most 
ignoble  principles  of  trade  or  fashion.  All  manly 
acquiescence  was  out  of  the  question. 4 The  Uni- 
tarians, as  such,  were  indifferent  or  lukewarm  ; the 
leading  classes  were  opposed  to  the  agitation.  Dr. 
Channing  stood  almost  alone  in  lending  countenance 
to  the  reform,  though  his  hesitation  between  the 
dictates  of  natural  feeling  and  Christian  charity 
towards  the  masters  hampered  his  action,  and  ren- 
dered him  obnoxious  to  both  parties, — the  radicals 
finding  fault  with  him  for  not  going  further,  the 
conservatives  blaming  him  because  he  went  so  far. 
The  transcendentalists  were  quite  universally  aboli- 
tionists, for  their  philosophy  pointed  directly  tow- 
ards the  exaltation  of  every  natural  power.  Wherever 


48 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


they  touched  the  earth — as  they  did  not  always, 
some  of  them  soaring  away  beyond  terrestrial  things 
— flowers  of  hope  sprang  up  in  their  path.  In 
France,  Germany,  and  England,  they  were  friends 
of  intellectual  and  social  progress,  of  the  ideal  de- 
mocracy. The  spiritual  philosophy  was  in  the  air ; 
its  ideas  were  unconsciously  absorbed  by  the  enthu- 
siastic spirits.  They  constituted  the  life  of  the 
period ; they  were  a light  to  such  as  dwelt  in 
darkness  or  sat  under  the  shadow  of  death. 

In  this  country  Mr.  Emerson  led  the  dance  of  the 
hours.  He  was  our  poet,  our  philosopher,  our  sage, 
our  priest.  He  was  the  eternal  man.  If  we  could 
not  go  where  he  went,  it  was  because  we  were  weak 
and  unworthy  to  follow  the  steps  of  such  an  emanci- 
pator. His  singular  genius,  his  wonderful  serenity 
of  disposition  inherited  from  an  exceptional  ancestry 
and  seldom  ruffled  by  the  ordinary  passions  of  men, 
his  curious  felicity  of  speech,  his  wit,  his  practical 
wisdom,  raised  him  above  all  his  contemporaries. 
His  infrequent  contact  with  the  world  of  affairs,  his 
seclusion  in  the  country,  his  apparitions  from  time 
to  time  on  lecture  platforms  or  in  convention  halls, 
crave  a far-off  sound  to  his  voice  as  if  it  fell  from  the 
clouds.  Some  among  his  friends  found  fault  with 
him  for  being  bloodless  and  ethereal,  but  this  added 
to  the  effect  of  his  presence  and  his  word.  The 
mixture  of  Theism  and  Pantheism  in  his  thoughts, 
of  the  personal  and  the  impersonal,  of  the  mystical 
and  the  practical,  fascinated  the  sentiment  of  the 


SALEM. 


49 


generation,  while  the  lofty  moral  strain  of  his  teach- 
ing awakened  to  increased  energy  the  wills  of  men. 
His  speech  and  example  stimulated  every  desire  for 
reform,  turning  all  eyes  that  were  opened  to  the 
land  of  promise  that  seemed  fully  in  sight.  How 
much  the  anti-slavery  conviction  of  the  time,  along 
with  every  other  movement  for  the  purification  of 
society,  owed  to  him  we  have  always  been  fond  of 
saying  with  that  indefiniteness  of  specification  which 
communicates  so  much  more  than  it  tells.  This 
must  be  said,  that,  in  the  exhilaration  of  the  period, 
they  that  worked  hardest  felt  no  exhaustion,  and 
they  that  sacrificed  most  were  couscious  of  no  self- 
abnegation,  and  they  that  threw  their  lives  into  this 
cause  had  no  sentiment  but  one  of  overflowing  grati- 
tude and  joy.  The  anti-slavery  agitation  was  felt  to 
be  something  more  than  an  attempt  to  apply  the 
Beatitudes  and  the  Parables  to  a flagrant  case  of 
inhumanity — it  was  regarded  as  a new  interpreter 
of  religion,  a fresh  declaration  of  the  meaning  of  the 
Gospel,  a living  sign  of  the  purely  human  character 
of  a divine  faith,  an  education  in  brotherly  love  and 
sacrifice ; it  was  a common  saying  that  now,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  generations,  the  essence  of  belief 
was  made  visible  and  palpable  to  all  men ; that 
Providence  was  teaching  us  in  a most  convincing 
way,  and  none  but  deaf  ears  could  fail  to  understand 
the  message. 

It  was,  indeed,  a most  suggestive  and  inspiring 
time.  Never  shall  I forget,  never  shall  I cease  to 

4 


50 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


be  grateful  for,  the  communion  with  noble  minds 
that  was  brought  about,  the  moral  earnestness 
that  was  engendered,  the  moral  insight  that  was 
quickened.  Then,  if  ever,  we  ascended  the  Mount 
of  Vision.  I was  brought  into  close  communion 
with  living  men,  the  most  living  of  the  time,  the 
most  under  the  influence  of  stimulating  thoughts; 
and  if  they  were  intemperate  in  their  speech,  ex- 
travagant in  their  opinions,  absolute  in  their  moral 
judgments,  that  must  be  taken  as  proof  of  the  depth 
of  their  conviction.  They  loved  much,  and  therefore 
could  be  forgiven,  if  forgiveness  was  necessary. 
They  sacrificed  a good  deal,  too,  some  of  them  every- 
thing in  the  shape  of  worldly  honor,  and  this  brought 
them  apparently  into  line  with  the  confessors  and 
saints.  They  made  real  the  precepts  of  the  New 
Testament.  Their  clients  were  the  poor,  the  lowly, 
the  disfranchised,  the  unprivileged,  against  whom 
the  grandeurs  of  the  world  lifted  a heavy  hand. 
They  were  champions  of  those  who  sorrowed  and 
prayed,  and  this  was  enough  to  win  sympathy  and 
disarm  criticism.  It  was  a great  experience ; not 
only  was  religion  brought  face  to  face  with  ethics, 
but  it  was  identified  with  ethics.  It  became  a re- 
ligion of  the  heart : pity,  sympathy,  humanity,  and 
brotherhood  were  its  essential  principles.  At  the 
anti-slavery  fairs  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  met 
together,  without  distinction  of  color  or  race  or  sex. 
There  was  really  an  education  in  the  broadest  faith, 
in  which  dogma,  creed,  form,  and  rite  were  second- 


SALEM. 


51 


ary  to  love ; and  love  was  not  only  universal,  but 
was  warm. 

Salem  was  the  home  of  story  and  legend.  There 
Puritanism  showed  its  best  and  worst  sides,  for 
there  Roger  Williams  preached,  and  there  the 
witches  were  persecuted.  The  house  where  they 
were  tried  and  the  hill  where  they  were  executed 
were  objects  of  curiosity.  There  were  the  wild 
pastures  and  the  romantic  shores,  and  broad  streets 
shaded  by  elm  trees,  and  gardens  and  greenhouses. 
There  were  spacious  mansions  and  beautiful  country- 
seats  and  pleasant  walks.  There  was  beauty  and 
grace  and  accomplishment  and  wit.  There  were 
quaint  old  buildings,  and  ways  once  trodden  by 
pious  and  heroic  feet.  On  the  whole,  this  was  the 
most  idyllic  period  in  my  ministry.  Thither  came 
Emanuel  Vitalis  Scherb,  the  native  of  Basel,  an 
exile  for  opinion’s  sake,  a man  full  of  genius,  learn- 
ing, enthusiasm.  Young,  handsome,  hopeful,  his 
lectures  on  German  literature  and  poetry  attracted 
notice  in  Boston,  whence  he  came  to  Salem  to  talk 
and  be  entertained.  The  best  houses  were  open  to 
him ; the  best  people  went  to  hear  him.  Alas,  poor 
Scherb  ! His  day  of  popularity  was  short.  He 
sank  from  one  stage  of  poverty  to  another ; he  was 
indebted  to  friends  for  aid,  among  the  rest  to  H. 
W.  Longfellow,  who  clung  to  him  till  the  last,  and 
finally  died  from  disease  in  a military  hospital  early 
in  our  Civil  War. 

I remember,  in  connection  with  Samuel  Johnson, 


52 


RECOLLECTION'S  AND  IMPRESSLONS. 


collecting  an  audience  for  Mr.  A.  B.  Alcott,  tlie 
most  adroit  soliloquizer  I ever  listened  to,  who 
delivered  in  a vestry-room  a series  of  those  remark- 
able “ conversations  ” — versations  with  the  con  left 
out — for  which  he  was  celebrated.  It  was,  in  many 
respects,  a happy  time. 


V. 

THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF. 

I was  in  Salem  when  this  came.  It  happened  in 
the  following  way : A woman  in  my  choir,  a melan- 
choly, tearful,  forlorn  woman,  asked  me  one  day 
if  I knew  Theodore  Parker.  I said  I did  not,  but 
then,  seeing  her  disappointment,  I asked  her  why 
she  put  that  question.  She  replied  that  her  hus- 
band had  abandoned  her  some  months  before  and 
with  another  woman  had  gone  to  Maine.  There  he 
had  left  the  woman  and  was  living  in  Boston,  and 
was  a member  of  Mr.  Parker’s  Society ; and  she 
thought  that  if  I knew  Mr.  Parker  I might  find  out 
something  about  him,  and  perhaps  induce  him  to 
come  back  to  Salem.  I told  her  I was  going  to 
Boston  in  a day  or  two,  and  would  see  Mr.  Parker. 

My  visit,  again  and  again  repeated,  resulted  in  an 
intimacy  with  that  extraordinary  man  which  had  a 
lasting  effect  on  my  career.  His  personal  sympathy, 
his  profound  humanity,  his  quickness  of  feeling,  his 
sincerity,  his  courage,  his  absolute  fidelity  of  service, 
even  more  than  his  astonishing  vigor  of  intellect 
and  his  earnestness  in  pursuit  of  truth,  made  a deep 

53 


54 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


impression  on  my  mind.  To  be  in  his  society  was 
to  be  impelled  in  the  direction  of  all  nobleness.  He 
talked  with  me,  lent  me  books,  stimulated  the  thirst 
for  knowledge,  opened  new  visions  of  usefulness.  As 
I recall  it  now,  his  influence  was  mainly  personal, 
the  power  that  comes  from  a great  character.  He 
communicated  a moral  impetus.  Faith  in  man,  love 
of  liberty  in  thought,  institution,  law,  breathed  in  all 
his  words  and  works.  His  theological  ideas  were 
somewhat  mixed,  as  was  inevitable  then.  His  gift 
of  spiritual  vision,  especially  as  shown  in  his  inter- 
pretation of  the  Old-Testament  narratives,  may  have 
been  imperfect ; his  moral  perspective  may  have 
been  incomplete  ; his  learning  was  copious,  rather 
than  discerning.  But  his  single-mindedness  was 
perfect,  and  his  devotion  to  his  fellow-men  was 
almost  superhuman.  It  was  a privilege  to  know 
such  a man,  so  simple-hearted  and  brave.  The 
slight  disposition  to  put  himself  on  his  omniscience, 
to  strike  an  attitude,  was  not  strange  considering  his 
enormous  force,  his  consciousness  of  power,  his 
singular  influence  over  men,  and  his  conviction  (in 
large  measure  forced  on  him  by  his  advocates)  that 
he  was  a religious  reformer,  a second  Luther,  the 
inaugurator  of  a new  Protestantism.  His  three 
doctrines,  to  which  he  constantly  appealed,  and  in 
proof  of  which  he  adduced  the  testimony  of  the 
human  soul, — the  existence  of  a personal  G-od,  the 
immortality  of  the  individual,  and  the  absoluteness 
of  the  “moral  law”  might  have  been  untenable 


THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF. 


55 


in  the  presence  of  modern  knowledge  under  the 
form  in  which  he  stated  them.  His  vast  collection 
of  materials  in  attestation  of  Theism  may  have  been 
valuable  chiefly  as  a curiosity ; but  the  man  himself 
was  all  of  one  piece,  genuine  through  and  through. 
The  mingling  of  fire  and  moderation  in  him  was 
very  remarkable,  the  blending  of  consuming  radical- 
ism with  saving  conservatism  puzzled  his  more 
vehement  disciples ; but  his  character  interested 
everybody ; his  firmness  was  visible  from  afar,  and 
his  warmth  of  heart  was  felt  through  stone  walls. 
There  were  no  two  ministers  in  Boston  who  did  as 
much  for  the  inmates  of  hospitals  and  prisons  as  he 
did.  His  ministry  ceased  a quarter  of  a century  ago, 
but  the  effect  is  vital  yet,  and  will  last  for  years  to 
come.  At  this  distance  the  heart  leaps  up  to  meet 
him.  His  chief  work  was  done,  for  it  consisted  mainly 
in  the  adoption  of  a type  of  character,  and  length 
of  days  is  not  needed  for  this,  while  it  is  apt  to  be 
impaired  by  the  infirmities  of  age.  His  long,  weari- 
some illness,  full  of  weakness  and  pain,  tested  the 
strength  of  his  fortitude,  patience,  hopefulness,  and 
trust,  and  was  interesting  as  showing  the  passive, 
acquiescent  side  of  heroism,  all  the  more  impressive 
in  view  of  his  love  of  life,  his  desire  to  finish  his 
course,  his  sense  of  accountability  (stronger  in  him 
than  in  anybody  I ever  met),  and  his  wish  to  serve 
his  kind.  It  was  my  happiness,  more  than  ten  years 
after  he  went  away  from  men,  to  dwell  for  months 
in  his  atmosphere,  while  writing  his  biography,  and 


56 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


all  my  old  impressions  of  him  were  confirmed.  And 
five  years  later,  reviewing  his  life  in  the  Index, 
I was  again  struck  by  his  greatness.  I may  be 
excused  for  quoting  the  closing  passage  from  the 
Index , of  July  5,  1877,  in  which  I stated  the  claims 
of  Theodore  Parker  to  the  honor  of  posterity.  The 
paragraph  sums  up  the  qualities  that  have  been 
ascribed  to  him — integrity,  catholicity,  outspoken- 
ness ; to  these  might  have  been  added  warmth 
of  heart,  but  this  last  attribute  lay  on  the  surface, 
and  could  be  easily  appreciated  by  ordinary  ob- 
servers— in  fact,  was  seen  and  acknowledged  by  his 
enemies,  and  by  those  who  knew  him  least. 


On  the  whole,  then,  I should  say  that  manliness  was  Theo- 
dore Parker’s  crowning  quality  and  supreme  claim  to  distinction. 
That  he  had  other  most  remarkable  gifts  is  conceded  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Everybody  knows  that  he  had.  But  this 
was  his  prime  characteristic.  The  other  gifts  he  had  in  spite 
of  himself — his  thirst  for  knowledge,  his  love  of  books,  his  all- 
devouring  industry,  his  unfailing  memory,  his  natural  eloquence 
or  power  of  affluent  expression  ; but  character  men  regard  as 
less  a gift  than  an  acquisition, — the  fruit  of  aspiration,  resolve, 
fidelity, — the  product  of  daily,  nay,  of  hourly,  endeavor. 
Hence  it  is  that  intellectual  greatness  does  not  impress  the 
multitude  ; even  genius  has  but  a limited  sway  over  the 
masses  of  mankind.  But  character  goes  to  the  roots  of  life. 
In  fact,  Theodore  Parker’s  eminence  as  a man  of  thought  and 
expression  in  words  has  concealed  from  the  world  at  large  the 
intrinsic  quality  of  the  person.  His  reputation  as  theologian, 
preacher,  controversialist,  has  concealed  the  real  greatness 
which  comes  to  light  as  the  dust  of  controversy  subsides. 
The  very  causes  in  which  the  heroism  of  his  manliness  was 


THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF. 


57 


displayed — as,  for  example,  the  anti-slavery  cause,  to  which 
he  devoted  so  much  of  his  time  and  vitality— rendered  incon- 
spicuous the  contribution  he  made  to  the  treasury  of  humane 
feeling.  Now  that  that  great  conflict  is  over,  now  that  its 
agitations  have  ceased  and  its  heats  have  cooled,  the  charac- 
ter of  which  this  conflict  revealed  but  a portion,  the  career  in 
which  this  long  agony  was  but  an  episode,  loom  up  into 
distinctness.  The  greatest  of  all  human  achievements  is  a 
manly  character — guileless,  sincere,  and  brave  ; that  he  by  all 
admission  possessed.  He  earned  it  ; he  prayed  for  it  ; medi- 
tated for  it  ; worked  for  it  ; — how  hard,  his  private  journals 
show.  And  for  this  he  will  not  be  forgotten.  For  this  he 
will  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  benefactors,  one  of  the 
emancipators,  of  his  kind. 

Front  a,  slielf  in  his  library,  I took  Schwegler’s 
“ Nachapostolische  Zeitalter,”  a work  which  threw  a 
Hood  of  light  on  the  problems  of  New-Testament 
criticism.  This  led  to  a study  of  the  writings  of 
F.  C.  Baur,  the  founder  of  the  so-called  “Tubingen 
School.”  A complete  set  of  the  Theologisclie 
t Tahrbucher , the  organ  of  his  ideas,  was  imported 
from  Germany,  and  carefully  perused.  These  vol- 
umes contained  full  and  minute  studies  on  all  the 
books  of  the  New  Testament — Gospels,  Epistles,  the 
writing  termed  “ The  Acts  of  the  Apostles,”  with  in- 
cidental glances  at  the  “ Apocalypse.”  The  calm, 
consistent  strength  of  these  expositions  commended 
them  to  my  mind.  The  author  was  a university 
professor,  a man  of  practical  piety,  a Lutheran 
preacher  of  high  repute,  simple,  affectionate,  faithful 
to  his  duties,  quite  unconscious  that  he  was  under- 
mining anybody’s  faith,  so  deeply  rooted  was  the 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


58 

old  Lutheran  freedom  of  criticism  in  regard  to  the 
Bible.  In  the  German  mind,  religion  and  literature, 
Christianity  and  the  Scriptures,  were  entirely  dis- 
tinct things.  The  scholar  could  sit  iu  his  library  in 
one  mood  and  could  enter  his  pulpit  in  another, 
preserving  in  both  the  single-mindedness  that  be- 
came a Christian  and  a student. 

Other  theories  have  arisen  since,  but  none  that 
have  taken  hold  of  such  eminent  minds  have  appeared. 
Theodore  Parker  accepted  it ; James  Martineau 
adopted  its  main  proposition  in  several  remarkable 
papers  written  at  various  times,  last  in  the  Unitarian 
magazine  Old  and  New.  Iu  the  brilliant  lectures 
delivered  in  London,  during  the  spring  of  1880,  on 
the  Hibbert  Foundation,  Ernest  Renan’s  striking 
account  of  early  Christianity  owed  its  force  to  the 
assumption  of  the  fundamental  postulate  of  the 
Tubingen  School.  In  the  latter  years  of  his  life, 
Baur  summed  up  the  results  of  his  criticism  in  a 
pamphlet  that  was  designed  to  meet  objections ; and 
in  1875-1877  his  son-in-law,  the  learned  Edward 
Zeller,  one  of  his  ablest  disciples,  an  eminent  pro- 
fessor of  history  at  Berlin,  published  an  earnest, 
carefully  considered,  masterly  report  of  the  writings 
of  the  now  famous  teacher,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  paid  a merited  tribute  to  his  character,  vindicated 
his  views  from  the  charge  of  haste  and  partisanship, 
and  predicted  for  them  a triumphant  future.1 

The  adoption  of  these  opinions,  so  opposed  to  the 


1 “ Vortrage  und  Abhandlungen,”  von  E.  Zeller,  2 vols.,  Leipzig. 


THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF . 


59 


views  current  in  the  community,  compelled  the 
adoption  of  a new  basis  for  religious  conviction. 
Christianity,  in  so  far  as  it  depended  on  the  New 
Testament  or  the  doctrines  of  the  early  Church,  was 
discarded.  The  cardinal  tenets  of  the  Creed — the 
Deity  of  the  Christ,  the  atonement,  everlasting  per- 
dition— had  been  dismissed  already,  and  I was  vir- 
tually beyond  the  limits  of  the  Confession.  But 
Theism  remained,  and  the  spiritual  nature  of  man 
with  its  craving  for  religious  truth.  Without  going 
so  far  as  Theodore  Parker  did,  who  maintained  that 
the  three  primary  beliefs  of  religion — the  existence 
of  God,  the  assurance  of  individual  immortality,  the 
reality  of  a moral  law — were  permanent,  universal, 
and  definite  facts  of  human  nature,  found  wherever 
man  was  found ; without  going  so  far  as  this,  I 
contended  that  man  had  a spiritual  nature  ; that 
this  nature,  on  coming  to  consciousness  of  its  powers 
and  needs,  gave  expression  to  exalted  beliefs,  cloth- 
ing them  with  authority,  building  them  into  temples, 
ordaining  them  in  the  form  of  ceremonies  and  priest- 
hoods. In  support  of  this  opinion,  appeal  was  made 
to  the  great  religions  of  the  world,  to  the  substantial 
agreement  of  all  sacred  books,  to  the  spontaneous 
homage  paid,  in  all  ages,  to  saints  and  prophets ; to 
the  essential  accord  of  moral  precepts  all  over  the 
globe,  to  the  example  of  Jesus,  to  the  Beatitudes 
and  Parables,  to  the  respect  given  by  rude  people 
to  the  noblest  persons,  to  the  credences  that  inspire 
multitudes,  to  the  teachings  of  Schleiermacher, 


Co 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Fichte,  Constant,  Cousin,  Carlyle,  Goethe,  Emerson, 
in  fact,  to  every  leading  writer  of  the  last  generation. 
All  this  was  so  beautiful,  so  consistent  and  convin- 
cing, so  full  of  promise,  so  broad,  plain,  and  inspiring 
that,  with  a fresh  but  miscalculated  enthusiasm, 
over-sanguine,  thoughtless,  the  young  minister  un- 
dertook to  carry  his  congregation  with  him,  but 
without  success  ; so  he  went  elsewhere.  This  action 
proceeded  from  the  faith  that  Parker  instilled. 
Parker  was  pre-eminently,  to  those  who  compre- 
hended him,  a believer. 

In  the  words  of  D.  A.  Wasson,  his  successor  in 
Music  Hall : 

Theodore  Parker  was  one  of  the  most  energetic  and  religious 
believers  these  later  centuries  have  known.  This  was  the 
prime  characteristic  of  the  man.  He  did  not  agree  in  the 
details  of  his  unbelieving  with  the  majority  of  those  around 
him,  because  it  was  part  of  his  religion  to  think  freely,  part  of 
their  religion  to  forbear  thinking  freely  on  the  highest  matters. 
But  he  was  not  only  a powerful  believer  in  his  own  soul,  but 
was  the  believing  Hercules  who  went  forth  in  the  name  of 
divine  law  to  cleanse  the  Augean  stables  of  the  world.  . . . 
This,  I repeat,  and  can  not  repeat  with  too  much  emphasis, 
was  the  characteristic  of  the  man — sinewy,  stalwart,  prophetic, 
fervid,  aggressive,  believing.  . . . The  Hercules  rather 

than  the  Apollo  of  belief,  it  was  not  his  to  charm  rocks  and 
trees  with  immortal  music,  but  to  smite  the  hydra  of  publicity, 
iniquity,  and  consecrated  falsehood  with  the  club  or  mace  of 
belief ; if  this  might  not  suffice,  then  to  burn  out  its  foul  life 
with  the  fire  of  his  sarcasms. 

To  quote  my  own  words,  written  in  1873  (see 
“ Life,”  p.  566)  : 


THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF. 


6l 


With  him  the  religious  sentiment  was  supreme.  It  had  no 
roots  in  his  being  wholly  distinct  from  its  mental  or  sensible 
forms  of  expression.  Never  evaporating  in  mystical  dreams 
nor  entangled  in  the  meshes  of  cunning  speculation,  it  pre- 
served its  freshness  and  bloom  and  fragance  in  every  passage 
of  his  life.  His  sense  of  the  reality  of  divine  things  was  as 
strong  as  was  ever  felt  by  a man  of  such  clear  intelligence. 
His  feeling  never  lost  its  glow,  never  was  damped  by  misgiv- 
ing, dimmed  by  doubt,  or  clouded  by  sorrow.  Far  from 
dreading  to  submit  his  faith  to  test,  he  courted  tests  ; was  as 
eager  to  hear  the  arguments  against  his  belief  as  for  it  ; was 
as  fair  in  weighing  evidence  on  the  opponent’s  side  as  on  his 
own.  “Oh,  that  mine  enemy  had  written  a book!’’  he  was 
ready  to  cry,  not  that  he  might  demolish  it,  but  that  he  might 
read  it.  He  knew  the  writings  of  Moleschott,  and  talked 
with  him  personally,  the  books  of  Carl  Vogt  were  not  strange 
to  him.  The  philosophy  of  Ludwig  Buchner,  if  philosophy  it 
can  be  called,  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  to  any  of  Buchner’s 
disciples.  He  was  intimate  with  the  thoughts  of  Feuerbach. 
He  drew  into  discussion  every  atheist  and  materialist  he  met, 
talked  with  them  closely  and  confidentially,  and  rose  from  the 
interview  more  confident  in  the  strength  of  his  own  positions 
than  ever.  Science  he  counted  his  best  friend  ; relied  on  it 
for  confirmation  of  his  faith,  and  was  only  impatient  because 
it  moved  no  faster.  All  the  materialists  in  and  out  of  Christ- 
endom had  no  power  to  shake  his  conviction  of  the  Infinite 
God  and  the  immortal  existence,  nor  would  have  had  had  he 
lived  till  he  was  a century  old,  for,  in  his  view,  the  convictions 
were  planted  deep  in  human  nature,  and  were  demanded  by 
the  exigencies  of  human  life.  Moleschott  respected  Parker  ; 
Dessor  was  his  confidential  friend  * Feuerbach  would  have 
taken  him  by  the  hand  as  a brother. 

There  can  be  no  greater  mistake  than  to  call 
Theodore  Parker  a Deist ; than  to  class  Theodore 
Parker  with  the  Deists.  He  was  utterly  unlike 


62 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Chubb  or  Shaftesbury,  Herbert  of  Cherbury  or 
Bolingbroke.  Even  the  most  philosophical  of  them 
had  nothing  in  common  with  him.  Hume  and  Vol- 
taire, for  instance,  were  utterly  unlike  him.  They, 
it  is  true,  believed  in  a God,  the  “ First  Cause,”  the 
“ Author  of  Nature,”  the  u Supreme  Being,”  and  in 
a future  life.  But  their  belief  was  merely  logical 
and  mechanical,  his  was  vital ; he  believed  in  the 
real,  living,  immanent  Deity.  They  thought  that 
religion  was  an  imposition,  a policy  of  the  priests, 
who  played  upon  the  fears  of  mankind  ; he  believed 
that  religion  was  a working  power  in  the  world,  the 
origin  of  the  highest  achievement,  the  soul  of  all 
aspiration.  They  had  no  faith  in  the  direct  com- 
munication of  the  “Supreme  Mind”  with  the  soul 
of  man ; he  believed  in  the  infinite  genius  of  man, 
and  in  - the  direct  communication  of  the  absolute 
intelligence.  They  thought  of  justice  as  a con- 
trivance for  securing  happiness  ; he  thought  of  it  as 
the  law  of  life.  One  of  Mr.  Parker’s  friends  as- 
cribed to  him  a gorgeous  imagination  ; if  he  had  it, 
it  is  a surprise  that  it  should  have  been  so  com- 
pletely suppressed  as  it  was,  for  his  taste  in  pictures 
and  in  poetry  was  very  questionable.  His  want  of 
speculative  talent  probably  helped  him  with  the 
people.  Whether  he  formulated  his  thoughts  is  un- 
certain. Such  was  not  his  genius.  He  was  a con- 
structive, not  a destructive.  It  was  his  faith  that  he 
criticised  the  Bible  in  order  that  he  might  release 
its  piety  and  righteousness ; that  he  tore  in  pieces 


THE  CRISIS  IN  BELIEF.  63 

the  creeds  in  order  to  emancipate  the  secrets  of 
divinity. 

It  is  useless  to  conjecture  what  Parker  might 
have  been  had  he  lived.  That  he  would  have  held 
to  his  primary  convictions  is  almost  certain ; is 
quite  certain  that  he  would  have  loved  mental  liberty. 
He  would  have  been  a great  power  in  our  Civil  War; 
he  would  probably  have  been  a leader  in  the  free  re- 
ligious movement.  Parker,  when  I first  knew  him, 
was  in  full  life  and  vigor.  He  had  gone  to  Boston  a 
short  time  before  my  ordination  in  1847,  and  had  be- 
fore him  a long  future  of  usefulness.  All  the  exigen- 
cies in  which  he  might  have  been  conspicuous  were 
distant.  That  the  effect  of  such  a man  on  me  and  my 
connections  was  exceedingly  great  is  not  strange.  It 
would  have  beeu  strange  had  it  been  otherwise.  In 
sermon,  prayer,  private  conversations  my  convictions 
came  out.  That  the  people  were  disappointed  may 
be  assumed,  but  they  were  kind,  generous,  and  pa- 
tient. The  congregations  did  not  fall  off  ; there 
was  little  violence  or  even  vehement  expostulation. 
But  the  position  was  not  comfortable,  and  when  an 
invitation  came  from  Jersey  City  to  found  a new 
Society,  I accepted  it  at  once.  It  had  been  a dream 
of  Dr.  Bellows  to  establish  a Society  at  that  place, 
and,  learning  that  I was  in  search  of  another  sphere 
of  activity,  he  asked  me  to  undertake  the  work. 
This  was  seconded  by  a cordial  representation  from 
Jersey  City  itself,  on  the  part  of  some  who  were 
Dr.  Bellows’  own  parishioners.  The  uprooting  was 


64 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


not  easy,  for  Salem  had  become  endeared  to  me  as 
the  first  scene  of  my  ministry,  a place  where  I could 
be  useful  in  many  ways,  and  which  contained  a de- 
lightful society;  an  established,  well-furnished  town, 
with  historic  associations;  a country  centre,  an 
agreeable  situation.  But  the  waters  were  getting 
still  there,  and  the  sentiment  of  the  past  was  get- 
ting to  over- weigh  the  promises  of  the  future. 


VI. 


JERSEY  CITY. 

Jersey  City,  to  which  I went  directly  from  Salem, 
was  a very  different  place  from  what  it  is  now ; 
smaller  and  perhaps  pleasanter.  Where  now  is  a 
large  city,  a few  years  ago  was  but  a village.  Now 
it  is  a manufacturing  place,  with  great  establish- 
ments, foundries,  machine-shops,  banks,  insurance 
companies,  newspapers,  more  than  forty  schools,  and 
more  than  sixty  churches.  Then  it  was  a large 
town,  though  it  was  nominally  a city  (incorporated 
in  1820),  with  a population  of  about  twenty  thou- 
sand, the  increase  being  chiefly  due  to  the  annexa- 
tion of  suburbs,  not  to  its  own  vital  growth.  It 
was  substantially  rural  in  character,  with  extensive 
meadows,  broad  avenues ; a place  of  residence 
largely,  the  gentlemen  living  there  and  doing  busi- 
ness in  New  York.  There  were  a few  Unitarians, 
a few  Universalists,  but  there  was  no  organized 
Unitarian  society  before  I went  there.  A great , 
many  cultivated  people  resided  in  this  place.  There 
was  wealth,  culture,  and  interest  in  social  matters. 
A meeting-house  was  built  for  me  and  dedicated  to 
a large,  rational  faith. 


5 


65 


66 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


The  chief  peculiarity  of  my  ministry  there  was 
the  disuse  of  the  communion  service.  This  rite  I 
had  thought  a great  deal  about  in  Salem.  There 
had  been,  then,  a well-meant  proposal  on  the  part 
of  the  pastor  to  make  an  alteration  in  the  form 
of  administering  the  communion  service.  The  cus- 
tom  had  been  (quite  an  incidental  one,  for  the  usage 
was  by  no  means  the  same  in  all  the  churches  of  the 
denomination)  to  thrust  the  rite  in  once  a month, 
between  the  morning  worship  and  dinner  time,  and 
to  offer  it  then  to  none  but  the  church-members, 
who  composed  but  a small  part  of  the  congregation. 
As  a consequence  of  this  arrangement,  the  observance 
became  formal,  dry,  short,  and  tiresome.  To  the 
majority  of  the  Society  it  seemed  a mystical  cere- 
mony with  which  they  had  no  concern,  while  those 
who  stayed  to  take  part  in  it,  wearied  already  by  the 
preceding  exercises,  and  hungry  for  their  mid-day 
meal,  gave  to  it  but  half-hearted  attention.  The 
observance  was  thus  worse  than  thrown  away;  for, 
in  addition  to  the  loss  of  an  opportunity  for  spiritual 
impression,  a dangerous  kind  of  self-righteousness 
was  encouraged  in  the  few  church-members,  who 
regarded  themselves  as  in  some  way  set  apart  from 
their  fellow-sinners,  either  as  having  made  confes- 
sion of  faith  or  as  being  subjects  of  a peculiar 
experience.  To  impart  freshness  to  the  rite,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  extend  its  usefulness  as  a “ means 
of  grace,”  the  minister  proposed  to  celebrate  it  less 
frequently  (once  in  two  or  three  months),  to  substi- 


JERSEY  CITY. 


6/ 


tute  it  in  place  of  the  usual  afternoon  meeting,  to 
make  special  preparation  for  it  by  the  co-operation 
of  the  choir,  and  to  throw  it  open  to  as  many  as 
might  choose  to  come,  be  they  church  members 
or  not.  The  suggestion  met  with  feeble  response, 
and  that  chiefly  from  young  people  who  had  hitherto 
stayed  away  out  of  a laudable  feeling  of  modesty, 
not  wishing  to  remain  when  their  elders  and  betters 
went  out,  and  not  thinking  themselves  good  enough 
to  partake  of  a special  privilege.  The  “ communi- 
cants,” as  a rule,  set  their  faces  against  the  innova- 
tion, perhaps  because  they  were  secretly  persuaded 
that  the  change  portended  the  secularizing  of  Chris- 
tianity by  a removal  of  the  barrier  that  divided  the 
church  from  the  world,  possibly  because  they  wished 
to  retain  an  exclusive  prerogative  which  had  always 
marked  the  “ elect.” 

The  matter  was  not  pressed  ; the  routine  went  on 
as  before ; the  minister  did  his  best  to  render  the 
service  impressive  and  interesting.  But  his  studies 
and  meditations  led  him  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
observance  had  no  place  in  the  Unitarian  system ; 
that  it  was  a mere  formality,  without  an  excuse  for 
being;  that  it  contained  no  idea  or  sentiment  that 
was  not  expressed  in  the  ordinary  worship ; that  it 
was  a remnant  of  an  otherwise  discarded  form  of 
Christianity,  where  it  had  a peculiar  significance ; 
that  it  was  the  last  attenuation  of  the  Roman  sac- 
rament of  transubstantiation ; that  it  ought  to  be 
dropped  from  every  scheme  of  liberal  faith  as  an 


68 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


illogical  adjunct,  a harmful  excrescence,  a hindrance, 
in  short.  No  whisper  of  these  doubts  was  breathed 
at  the  time,  but  the  pastor’s  silence  allowed  the 
scepticism  to  strike  the  deeper  root  in  his  mind. 
Mr.  Emerson’s  departure  from  his  parish,  on  the 
ground  that  he  could  no  longer  administer  the  com- 
munion rite  according  to  the  usage  of  the  sect,  had 
occurred  many  years  before  this,  but  was  still 
remembered  in  discussion  and  talk.  Theodore  Par- 
ker had  no  communion  ; but  he  was  an  established 
leader  of  heresy,  and  did  not  furnish  an  example. 
Many,  agreeing  with  Emerson’s  reasoning,  disap- 
proved of  his  course  in  resigning  his  pulpit  rather 
than  continue  to  administer  the  bread  and  wine. 
He  himself  advised  others  to  hold  on  to  the  observ- 
ance, if  they  could,  hoping  for  the  time  when  it 
might  be  universally  vivified  by  faith.  Some  might 
do  it  as  it  was.  The  congregations  would,  it  is 
likely,  without  exception,  have  decided  as  his  did, 
to  lose  their  minister  sooner  than  their  “ Supper.” 
Some  years  later,  on  passing  through  Boston  on  my 
way  to  another  scene  of  labor,  I called  on  a distin- 
guished clergyman  who  had  taken  a part  in  my 
ordination,  and  was  asked  by  him  what  I intended 
to  do  in  my  new  parish  with  regard  to  the  com- 
munion. I replied  that  it  was  not  my  purpose  to 
have  it.  “ You  cannot  give  it  up,”  he  said ; “ it 
is  stronger  than  any  of  us.  I should  drop  it  if 
I dared,  for  there  is  nothing  real  in  it  that  is  not 
in  the  general  service,  but  I am  afraid  to  try.  I 


JERSEY  CITY. 


69 


shall  watch  your  experiment  with  interest,  but  with- 
out expectation  of  its  success.”  “Very  well,”  I re- 
plied, “ we  shall  see.”  The  experiment  was  tried 
and  succeeded.  For  four  years  I had  no  communion, 
and  not  a word  was  said  about  it.  On  leaving  for 
New  York,  several  of  my  friends,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  the  ceremony  all  their  lives,  were 
asked  if  they  did  not  think  it  would  be  wise  to  rein- 
state the  rite.  To  my  surprise,  they  with  one  voice 
said  that  there  was  no  need  of  it,  that  the  Society  got 
along  perfectly  well  without  it.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  in  New  York  the  observance  was  never  celebrated. 

The  ceremony  was  justified  among  Unitarians  by 
various  reasons  which,  in  the  end,  seemed  apologies. 
With  the  old-fashioned,  semi-orthodox  members  of 
the  congregations  it  was  a precious  heirloom,  prized 
for  its  antiquity  ; a liuk  that  still  held  them  in  the 
bond  of  fellowship  with  the  universal  church  ; a last 
relic  of  the  supernaturalism  to  which  they  clung 
without  knowing  why  ; the  pledge  of  a mystical 
union  with  their  Christ.  Any  change  in  the  admini- 
stration of  it  was  regarded  as  a desecration  ; the 
suggestion  of  its  complete  discontinuance  could, 
they  thought,  arise  in  no  mind  that  was  not  fatally 
poisoned  by  infidelity.  It  was  not,  in  their  opinion, 
a symbol  of  doctrine,  but  a channel  of  divine  influ- 
ence, which  no  intellectual  doubts  could  touch, 
which  spiritual  deadness  alone  could  dispense  with. 
Tenets  might  be  abandoned,  forms  of  belief  might 
be  discredited,  but  this  citadel  of  faith  must  not  be 


7o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


assailed  or  approached  by  irreverent  feet.  Mr.  Em- 
erson’s example  was  not  followed  by  his  contem- 
poraries. His  fellows  did  not  so  soon  reach  his 
point  of  conviction.  Even  radicals,  like  George  Rip- 
ley, did  not.  In  my  own  case  it  was  the  growth  of 
time.  At  the  moment  there  was  no  disposition  to 
abandon  the  observance,  simply  a desire  to  reani- 
mate it.  It  was  not  perceived  till  much  later  that 
the  changes  proposed  implied  a virtual  abandonment 
of  the  rite  itself ; that  the  communion  is  regarded  as 
a sacrament,  that  as  a sacrament  it  might  be  pre- 
sumed to  be  supernaturally  instituted  for  the  com- 
munication of  the  divine  life ; that,  when  faith  in 
the  supernatural  declines,  the  sacrament  no  longer 
has  a function  as  a medium,  and  must  be  omitted ; 
that  no  attempts  to  revive  it  as  a sentimental  prac- 
tice could  be  justified  to  reason  ; that  all  endeavors 
to  awaken  interest  in  it  by  assuming  some  occult 
efficacy  must  be  futile  because  groundless.  The 
“ memorial  service  ” can  in  no  proper  sense  be  called 
a sacrament.  It  may  be  a pleasing  expression  of 
sentiment,  somewhat  over-strained  and  fanciful,  but 
capable  of  being  made  attractive.  The  task  of  re- 
producing the  emotions  of  the  early  disciples  as  they 
sat  at  supper  with  their  Master,  nearly  two  thousaud 
years  ago,  is  too  severe  for  the  ordinary  imagination, 
and  when  persisted  in  from  a sense  of  duty  may  be- 
come a dull,  creaking  performance,  against  which  the 
sensitive  rebel  and  the  witty  are  tempted  to  launch 
the  shafts  of  their  sarcasm.  The  only  way  of  saving 


JERSEY  CITY. 


7 1 


it  from  gibes  is  to  ascribe  to  it  some  mystical  efficacy 
for  which  there  is  no  logical  excuse.  The  Roman 
Catholic  doctrine  of  Transubstantiation  had  a 
foundation  in  the  philosophy  of  the  Church.  The 
Lutheran  doctrine  of  Consubstantiation,  which  rec- 
ognized the  presence  of  Christ  on  the  occasion,  but 
not  the  literal  change  of  the  substance  of  his  flesh, 
was  legitimate.  But  the  Sabelliau  theory,  which 
the  Unitarians  inherited,  was  in  no  respect  justified, 
save  as  a tradition. 

The  sole  alternative  at  that  time  for  me,  when  the 
Communion  service  was  made  a test  question  be- 
tween the  “ conservative  ” and  the  u radical,”  was  to 
drop  it.  At  present  the  situation  is  altered.  It  is 
no  longer  a ceremony  or  a tradition,  but  a means  of 
spiritual  cultivation.  It  stands  for  fellowship  and 
aspiration,  not  for  a communion  of  saints,  but  of  all 
those  who  desire  to  share  the  saintly  mind,  of  all 
who  aim  at  perfection.  The  rite  is  one  in  which  all 
may  unite  who  wish,  however  fitfully,  for  goodness; 
all,  whether  Romanist  or  Protestant,  and  Protestant 
of  whatever  name;  all,  in  every  religion  under  the 
sun,  Eastern  or  Western,  Northern  or  Southern,  old 
or  new,  every  dividing  line  being  erased.  I once 
attended  the  Communion  service  of  a Broad  Church- 
man. The  invitation  was  large  and  inclusive,  com- 
prehending everybody  who,  though  far  off,  looked 
towards  the  light,  everybody  who  had  the  least 
glimmer  of  the  divine  radiance  ; and  none  but  an 
absolute  infidel  was  shut  out.  There  was  a recog- 
nition of  a divine  nature  in  men, — 


72 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Like  plants  in  mines  which  never  saw  the  sun, 

But  dream  of  him,  and  guess  where  he  may  be, 

And  do  their  best  to  climb  and  get  to  him. 

The  idea  of  spiritual  communion  is  a grand  one. 
It  is  universal  too  ; it  is  human  in  the  best  sense. 
The  symbols  were  ancient  when  Jesus  used  them, 
the  Bread  signifying  Truth,  the  Wine  signifying  Life. 
Originally  the  symbols  referred  to  the  wealth  of 
nature,  as  is  evident  from  an  ancient  prayer.  It 
was  the  custom  for  the  master  of  the  Jewish  feast  to 
repeat  this  form  of  words  : “ Blessed  be  Thou,  O 
Lord,  our  God,  who  givest  us  the  fruits  of  the 
vine,”  and  then  he  gave  the  cup  to  all. 

Leaving  out  the  personal  application  which  is 
purely  incidental,  and  discarding  the  sacramental 
idea  which  is  a corruption,  throwing  the  service 
open  to  the  whole  congregation  as  an  opportunity,  a 
great  deal  may  be  accomplished  in  the  way  of  spirit- 
ual advancement.  True,  the  ceremony  contains  no 
thought  or  sentiment  that  is  not  expressed  in  the 
sermon  or  the  prayer,  but  it  puts  these  in  jDoetic 
form,  it  addresses  them  directly  to  the  imagina- 
tion, it  associates  them  with  the  holier  souls  in  their 
holiest  hours,  and  brings  people  face  to  face  with 
their  better  selves  in  the  tenderest  and  most  touch- 
ing manner,  teaching  charity,  love,  endeavor  after 
the  religious  life.  The  rite  is  full  of  beauty  when 
confined  within  the  bounds  of  Christianity,  but  when 
extended  to  the  principles  of  other  faiths,  it  is  rich 
in  meaning,  and  may  be  used  with  effect  by  those 


JERSEY  CITY. 


73 


who  wish  to  educate  the  people  iu  the  highest  form 
of  idealism,  who  desire  comprehensiveness.  A sym- 
bol often  goes  further  than  an  argument,  and  a sym- 
bol so  ancient  and  so  consecrated  ought  to  be  pre- 
served. A friend  of  mine  included  all  religious 
teachers  in  his  commemoration.  This  was  a step  in 
the  right  direction,  but  if  the  people  are  not  ready 
for  this  yet,  they  may  welcome  an  extension  of  the 
reign  of  spiritual  love  among  the  disciples  whom 
theological  hatred  has  kept  apart.  But  this  was 
not  suspected  then. 

It  will  be  remarked  that  my  reasons  were  not 
those  of  Emerson.  His  argument  was  solid  and 
sound,  but  his  real  reason  was  personal.  He  said  in 
his  sermon  : “ If  I believed  it  was  enjoiued  by  Jesus 
and  his  disciples  that  he  even  contemplated  making 
permanent  this  mode  of  commemoration,  every  way 
agreeable  to  an  Eastern  mind,  and  yet  on  trial  it 
was  disagreeable  to  my  own  feelings,  I should  not 
adopt  it.  . . . It  is  my  desire  in  the  office  of  a 

Christian  minister  to  do  nothing  which  I cannot  do 
with  my  whole  heart.  Having  said  this  I have  said 
all.  . . . That  is  the  end  of  my  opposition,  that  I am 
not  interested  in  it.”  My  ground  was  different ; I 
had  no  objection  to  the  symbol,  none  to  an  Oriental 
symbol,  and  the  mere  fact  that  I was  not  interested 
in  it  seemed  to  me  not  pertinent  to  the  case.  My 
objection  was  that  it  divided  those  who  ought  to  be 
united  ; that  it  encouraged  a form  of  self-righteous- 
ness ; that  it  implied  a “ grace  ” that  did  not  exist. 


74 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


For  the  rest,  my  form  of  religion  was  of  sentiment. 
It  was  scarcely  Unitarian,  not  even  Christian  in  a 
technical  sense  or  in  any  other  but  a broad  moral 
signification.  It  was  Theism  founded  on  the  Tran- 
scendental philosophy,  a substitute  for  the  authority 
of  Romanism  and  of  Protestantism.  This  was  an  ad- 
mirable counterfeit  of  Inspiration,  having  the  fire, 
the  glow,  the  beauty  of  it.  It  most  successfully  tided 
over  the  gulf  between  Protestantism  and  Rational- 
ism. Parker  used  it  with  great  effect.  It  was  the 
life  of  Emerson’s  teaching.  It  animated  Thomas 
Carlyle.  It  was  the  fundamental  assumption  of  the 
Abolitionists,  and  of  all  social  reformers. 

I had  perfect  freedom  of  speech  in  Jersey  City; 
there  was  no  opposition  to  the  doctrine  announced. 
The  Society  there  was  large  and  nourishing,  and  its 
influence  in  the  town  was  on  the  increase.  But  Jer- 
sey City  was,  after  all,  a suburb  only  of  New  York. 
Some  of  my  most  devoted  hearers  came  from  New 
York,  and  urged  me  to  go  there.  Dr.  Bellows  was 
anxious  to  found  a third  Society  in  the  great  city,  and 
added  his  word  to  their  solicitations,  so  that  in  the 
spring  of  1859  I went  thither.  My  church  in  Jer- 
sey City  was  continued  for  a short  time,  but  I had 
no  settled  successor ; the  congregation  did  not  grow ; 
some  of  my  most  earnest  supporters  had  either  died 
or  left  the  town.  The  war  broke  out  and  was  fatal 
to  institutions  that  had  not  a deep  root.  The  build- 
ing was  sold  soon  after,  for  business  purposes  I think, 
and  the  society  was  never  renewed.  This  may  ap- 


JERSEY  CITY. 


75 


pear  singular  considering  that  there  are  Unitarian 
churches  elsewhere  in  New  Jersey,  at  Camden, 
Orange,  Plainfield,  Vineland,  and  Woodbury.  The 
changed  condition  of  the  town  may  have  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  failure  to  revive,  after  the  war, 
the  Unitarian  Society.  The  Catholic,  Presbyterian, 
Orthodox  Congregationalist  communions  were  more 
suited  to  the  new  population  than  the  Unitarian  was. 
Possibly,  too,  the  “ radical  ” complexion  of  the  parish 
had  something  to  do  with  the  disrepute  that  fell 
upon  it.  However  this  may  have  been,  the  cause 
did  not  seem  to  prosper.  Mr.  Job  Male,  who  died 
recently  at  Plainfield,  was  one  of  my  most  zealous 
supporters  and  exerted  himself  to  keep  the  enterprise 
alive,  but  in  vain.  It  is  understood  that  the  flourish- 
ing Unitarian  church  in  Plainfield  was  largely  due 
to  his  efforts. 


VII. 


NEW  YORK. 

For  the  first  year  in  New  York  I lived  with  Dr. 
Bellows  at  his  parsonage.  Mrs.  Bellows  and  the 
children  were  at  Eagleswood,  New  Jersey,  the  chil- 
dren being  at  school  with  Mi*.  Weld.  And  this  is 
the  place  to  say  something  about  Henry  Whitney 
Bellows.  He  was  a very  remarkable  man,  most  ex- 
traordinary in  his  way  ; an  original  man,  a peculiar 
individual ; of  mercurial  temper,  various,  quick, 
sympathetic,  brave,  whole-hearted,  generous,  but  all 
in  his  own  fashion.  More  Celtic  than  Saxon,  more 
French  than  Euglish,  prone  to  generalize,  some- 
thing of  a doctrinaire , indifferent  to  personalities, 
but  of  warm  affections  where  he  was  interested; 
loyal,  as  knights  always  are,  where  his  honor  was 
concerned,  but  impatient  of  dictation,  restless,  nerv- 
ous, impetuous,  dashing  from  side  to  side,  always 
consistent  with  himself,  yet  rarely  consistent  with 
ordinary  rules  of  conventional  society.  Such  a man 
is  best  described  in  detail. 

Dr.  Bellows,  as  we  called  him,  had  a singular  gift 
of  expression.  This  was  the  soul  of  him,  his  most 

76 


NEW  YORK. 


77 


prominent  feature,  the  trait  that  explains  every  other. 
His  appearance  indicated  as  much.  He  had  a 
mobile  mouth,  flexible  features,  a ringing  voice,  a 
cordial  manner.  He  was  fond  of  talking,  brilliant  in 
conversation,  attractive  in  social  intercourse,  a charm- 
ing companion,  full  of  wit,  rapid  in  repartee,  ready 
with  anecdote,  illustration,  allusion.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  at  the  dinner-table,  at  friendly  gather- 
ings, at  the  club,  where  a circle  always  collected 
round  him  and  were  delighted  wTith  the  endless 
versatility  of  his  discourse.  In  fact,  he  was  a man 
of  society  rather  than  a clergyman,  though  he  occu- 
pied a pulpit  from  the  beginning,  and  was  faithful  to 
all  the  duties  of  his  profession.  Still  they  were  not 
altogether  to  his  taste,  and  he  got  away  from  them 
whenever  he  conscientiously  could.  His  best  deliver- 
ances were  half-secular  addresses  on  some  theme  of 
immediate  popular  interest,  speeches,  orations,  ethi- 
cal talks,  ever  on  a high  plane  of  sentiment,  but 
looking  towards  the  urgent  preoccupations  of  the 
time.  He  was  not  a student  in  any  direction  ; not  a 
deep,  patient,  exhaustive  thinker ; not  a scholar  in 
any  school,  but  an  immense  reader  of  current  litera- 
ture, of  magazines,  papers,  memoirs,  and  an  elo- 
quent reproducer  of  thoughts  as  he  found  them 
lying  on  the  surface  of  the  intellectual  world.  His 
brain  was  exceedingly  active,  and  reached  forth  in 
all  directions ; his  pen  was  fluent,  facile,  and  busy  ; 
language  exuded  from  all  his  pores.  Asa  preacher 
he  was  conventional,  restrained,  and,  it  must  be  con- 


yS  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

fessed,  not  engaging  as  a rule,  blit  as  a talker  be  was 
delightful,  copious,  entertaining,  kindling,  attractive 
to  old  and  young,  and  crowds  thronged  the  house 
when  he  spoke  about  what  he  had  seen  or  felt,  while 
his  pulpit  discourses  did  not  fill  the  pews.  Like 
many  men  of  remarkable  talents,  he  imagined  his 
strong  points  to  be  those  in  which  he  was  most 
deficient,  not  being  gifted  with  much  power  of  self- 
knowledge,  and  perhaps  aspiring  after  accomplish- 
ments he  did  not  possess.  He  prided  himself  more 
than  he  should  have  done  on  his  insight  as  a theolo- 
gian, his  depth  as  a philosopher,  his  skill  as  an 
administrator,  his  practical  success  as  an  organizer; 
whereas  his  consummate  ability  consisted  in  exposi- 
tion, not  in  original  discovery.  He  was  not  a 
theologian,  not  a philosopher,  not  a builder,  but  a 
most  persuasive  advocate,  perhaps  the  most  adroit  I 
ever  met  with.  His  range  was  wide,  his  exuberance 
infinite,  his  sway  over  his  listeners  absolute.  It  is 
no  marvel  that  such  a man  was  persuaded  that  he 
could  achieve  all  thing-s. 

o 

He  was  the  only  speaker  I ever  knew  who  could 
talk  himself  into  ideas.  Many,  by  dint  of  talking, 
can  work  themselves  into  an  implicit  faith  in  doc- 
trines they  were  indifferent  about  at  starting ; but 
this  man  had  the  dangerous  gift  of  being  able,  not 
merely  to  think  on  his  feet,  but  to  set  his  faculties 
in  motion  by  the  action  of  his  tongue.  Again  and 
again  he  has  gone  to  a public  meeting,  at  which  he 
was  expected  to  speak,  'with  no  preparation  at  all,  or 


NEW  YORK. 


79 


none  but  a very  general  one,  depending  upon  some 
impulse  of  the  moment  to  set  him  a-going.  A word 
dropped  by  a previous  speaker,  the  mere  presence  of 
the  audience,  a suggestion  awakened  in  his  mind  as 
he  sat  awaiting  his  turn,  would  excite  him  sufficiently; 
and  when  he  stood  up  one  idea  started  another,  an 
illustration  opened  a new  field  of  thought,  till  the 
torrent,  growing  deeper  and  more  tumultuous  as  it 
flowed,  carried  the  hearers  away  in  ecstasy.  One 
who  did  not  know  him  found  it  hard  to  believe  that 
he  had  not  meditated  his  address  beforehand.  He 
has  gone  into  the  pulpit  with  a written  sermon,  and 
being  struck  by  a sentence  in  the  Scripture  he 
was  reading,  has  laid  his  manuscript  aside  and 
delivered  an  extemporaneous  discourse  on  an  entirely 
different  theme. 

The  reason  why  he  did  not  preach  habitually 
without  notes  was  that  this  fatal  facility  of  speech 
excited  him  too  much,  carried  him  too  far,  rendered 
him  discursive,  led  him  on  to  inordinate  length,  and 
wearied  his  congregation.  He  needed  the  restraint 
of  the  paper,  the  calm  dignity  of  the  closet  medita- 
tion ; he  needed  also  to  spread  his  thoughts  over  a 
larger  expanse  of  time,  and  thus  to  secure  quiet  for 
his  brain.  At  the  risk,  therefore,  of  being  dull,  he 
spared  himself,  as  well  as  his  parishioners,  the  stimu- 
lating fervor  of  the  extemporaneous  address.  He 
may  have  felt,  too,  that  his  was  not  the  quality  of 
mind  for  this  method.  It  required  a less  fluent 
talent,  a less  ready  loquacity,  a less  mercurial  tern 


8o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


perament,  a more  reserved  habit.  There  are  those 
whose  constitutional  reticence  preserves  them  from 
aberration  ; who  can  see  the  end  from  the  beginning; 
can  cling  closely  to  the  matter  in  hand  ; can  walk  a 
thin  plank ; and  have  too  few  ready  ideas  to  be  in 
any  peril  of  going  astray.  Such  are  the  most  suc- 
cessful extemporaneous  preachers.  Dr.  Bellows’ 
genius  was  better  adapted  to  an  address,  therefore, 
than  to  a sermon. 

The  secular  view  of  things  was  more  attractive  to 
him  than  the  spiritual.  His  defence  of  the  drama  in 
1857  (an  oration  delivered  in  the  Academy  of  Music, 
and  which  was  very  bold  for  that  time)  ; his  vigor- 
ous conduct  of  the  Christian  Inquirer , a Unitarian 
paper,  which  he  managed  and  for  which  he  wrote 
constantly  for  four  years,  advocating  an  unwonted 
liberality  of  sympathy,  maintaining,  for  example, 
the  substantial  identity  of  the  Unitarian  and  the 
Universalist  confessions  ; his  interest  in  questions  of 
social  and  philanthropic  concern  ; his  lectures  before 
the  Lowell  Institute  in  1857, — all  attest  his  desire  to 
effect  a reconciliation  between  science  and  religion, 
between  this  world  and  the  next.  His  oration  be- 
fore the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard,  in 
1853,  is  an  admirable  specimen  of  his  treatment 
of  similar  themes.  The  subject  of  the  oration  was 
“The  Ledger  and  the  Lexicon,  or  Business  and 
Literature  in  Account  with  American  Education  ” ; 
and  its  purpose  was  to  assert  the  claims  of  popular 
life  against  those  of  scholarship, — to  state  the  case 


NEW  YORK. 


81 


of  natural  instincts  and  practical  intelligence  as  the 
controlling  force  of  our  destiny.  He  says,  most 
truly,  at  the  outset,  “ Speaking  purely  as  a scholar, 
I should  unaffectedly  feel  that  I had  nothing  to 
offer  worthy  this  audience  or  occasion,”  and  then  he 
goes  on  with  a full,  earnest,  eloquent  plea  for  the 
intellectual  character  of  our  political  and  commercial 
activity.  Here  is  an  extract : 

What  History  asks  from  us  is  not  Literature  and  Art. 
The  world  is  full  of  what  can  never  grow  old  in  either. 
American  Literature,  American  Art  ! Heaven  save  us  from 
them  ! Let  us  freely  use  what  is  so  much  better  than  any- 
thing one  nation  can  make,  the  Literature  and  Art  of  the 
whole  past  and  the  whole  world.  History  implores  us,  first  of 
all,  to  be  true  to  humanity.  She  begs  to  see  the  education, 
the  taste,  the  sensibility  of  this  great  people  turned  to  the 
serious,  vital,  universal  interest  of  thoroughly  vindicating 
Man  from  the  scorn  of  men ; of  establishing  man  on  his 
throne  as  man, — free  because  man,  happy  because  man,  noble 
and  religious  because  man  ! Literature  and  Art  will  take  care 
of  themselves  ; high  education  and  scholarship  will  come  in 
their  own  time  ; and  so,  thank  God,  will  everything  humanity 
needs.  But  for  ourselves  and  the  immediate  generation,  there 
is  no  work  so  worthy  as  confirming  the  faith  of  our  people  in 
their  own  principles  ; encouraging  devotion  to  Liberty  as  the 
supreme  interest  of  Man  ; — of  man  sacred  in  his  own  eyes, 
with  duties,  rights,  aims,  that  are  bounded  neither  by  color, 
nationality,  nor  law.  The  love  of  the  race,  the  liberation  of 
humanity  from  complexional,  material,  political,  and  moral 
disfranchisements  ; the  elevation  of  the  individual  and  of 
every  individual  ; the  prostration  of  all  partition-walls  that 
separate  our  kind  ; the  tumbling  of  the  artificial  pedestals 

that  elevate  the  few,  into  the  unnatural  pits  that  bury  the 
6 


82 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


rest  ; the  affiliation  of  the  foreigner,  and  the  emancipation  of 
the  slave  ; the  subjugation  of  rebellious  matter  and  reluctant 
wealth  to  the  wants  and  desires  of  man  ; the  establishment  of 
beautiful  and  independent  homes,  of  high  and  free  and  noble 
lives  ; — this  is  American  scholarship,  this  American  art.  A 
country  that  sacrifices  even  its  nationality,  that  proudest  of 
all  prejudices,  to  its  humanity,  will  be  the  first  to  pay  that 
tribute  to  man,  which  Christ  waits  to  welcome  as  the  final 
triumph  of  his  kingdom.  And,  finally,  here  in  America, 
where  for  the  first  time  universal  comfort  and  general  abun- 
dance reign,  the  race  looks  to  us  to  pronounce  the  banns 
between  the  spiritual  and  material  interests  and  pursuits  of 
man, — his  worldly  well-being,  and  his  heavenly  prosperity, — a 
union  that  shall  not  be  a miserable  compromise  of  which  both 
shall  be  ashamed  and  which  neither  shall  keep,  but  an  honor- 
able, hearty,  and  intelligible  alliance,  on  the  highest  grounds. 

This  is  very  fine  and  brave,  and  similar  in  tone  was 
all  lie  said  about  American  life  and  destiny.  He 
tried  to  exalt  common  things,  and  in  this  way  he 
more  than  made  amends  for  his  lack  of  scholastic 
equipment.  His  mission  was  to  encourage  and  for- 
tify and  console  actual  men  and  women,  not  to  solve 
deep  problems  of  fate.  A good  but  commonplace 
man  spoke  to  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes  of  his  endless 
gratitude  to  Dr.  Bellows  because  on  one  New  Year’s 
Day  he  preached  a doctrine  of  promise,  and  said  that 
men  did  their  best,  and  that  the  world  was  as  good 
as  could  be  expected  ; not  an  extraordinary  doctrine 
certainly,  but  one  that  is  seldom  announced  with  so 
much  cordial,  human  sympathy.  This  same  ardor  he 
threw  into  his  ordinary  lectures,  carrying  audiences 
away  with  a flood  of  conviction. 


NEW  YORK. 


‘S3 


When  our  Civil  War  broke  out  and  it  became 
evident,  as  it  soon  did,  that  the  conflict  would  be 
a Iona;  one,  necessitating  large  armies  in  a region  of 
country  unused  to  military  needs  and  ignorant  of 
military  exigencies,  Dr.  Bellows’  attention  was  drawn 
to  the  questions  involved  in  the  maintenance  of  a 
vast  number  of  men  in  the  field,  their  protection, 
discipline,  and  comfort ; the  proper  supply  of  food, 
clothing,  medicine ; the  best  kind  of  tent,  the  best 
kind  of  hospital,  the  duty  of  keeping  up  the  home 
associations  by  means  of  correspondence  and  mis- 
sives. He  talked  over  the  situation  with  a few 
friends ; societies  were  formed,  organizations  insti- 
tuted, the  means  of  relief  set  in  motion.  Out  of  this 
grew  the  Sanitary  Commission,  of  which  he  was  the 
mouthpiece  and  the  inspiring  soul.  The  work  was 
immense,  but  the  task  of  awakening  the  country  to 
the  necessity  of  endeavor  Avas,  beyond  all  ordinary 
poAver  of  conception,  arduous.  Such  Avas  the  blind 
faith  in  the  government, — a government  inexperi- 
enced in  similar  matters, — such  was  the  indifference 
of  multitudes  who  were  far  removed  from  actual 
danger,  such  the  unconsciousness  of  the  magnitude 
of  the  peril,  such  the  insensibility  to  the  demands  of 
the  hour,  the  serene  confidence  that  all  Avas  going 
well,  the  jaunty  sense  of  complacency  in  having 
raised  the  regiments,  that  nothing  less  than  a trum- 
pet call  was  required  to  rouse  the  country  to  a feel- 
ing of  obligation.  Afterwards  Avhen  the  magnitude 
of  the  strife  was  self-evident,  when  the  dangers  of 


84 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


camp-life  were  understood,  and  the  temptations  to 
infidelity  of  many  kinds  were  painfully  apparent, 
other  forces  came  in  to  carry  forward  the  work ; but 
at  first  prescience  was  needed,  and  zeal,  and  faith  in 
principles,  and  a sense  of  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion. It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  but  for  the 
energy  shown  by  the  Sanitary  Commission  in  the 
early  part  of  the  war,  the  issue  might  have  been  in- 
definitely postponed.  That  the  Commission  itself 
flourished  to  the  end  was  due  in  the  main  to  Henry 
Bellows.  Of  course  he  did  not  do  everything,  but 
he  did  his  part.  The  labor  of  organization  was  dis- 
charged by  other  orders  of  genius.  The  duties  of 
treasurer  devolved  upon  men  differently  constituted 
still ; there  were  many  hands  employed,  many  heads 
busy  with  planning.  But  his  was  the  potent  voice. 
He  sounded  the  clarion  ; East,  West,  North,  and  as 
far  South  as  he  could  go,  he  argued,  remonstrated, 
pleaded,  exhorted,  interpreted,  inspired,  and  wher- 
ever he  was  heard  he  filled  veins  with  patriotic  fire. 
He  was  never  daunted,  never  disheartened,  never 
depressed.  His  tones  always  rang  out  clear,  strong, 
decisive.  The  bugle  never  gave  an  uncertain  sound. 
In  Washington  he  addressed  the  highest  authorities 
and  was  so  urgent,  not  to  say  so  imperious,  that 
President  Lincoln  asked  him  which  of  the  two 
ran  the  machine  of  government.  He  possessed  in 
a singular  degree  the  power  of  making  people  work, 
and  work  gladly, — all  sorts  of  people,  men  and 
women,  the  sensible  and  the  enthusiastic,  the  prac- 


NEW  YORK. 


85 


tical  and  the  sentimental,  the  low-toned  and  the 
high-strung ; and  they  toiled  day  after  day  at  scrap- 
ing lint,  packing  garments,  raising  money,  organizing 
fairs.  In  the  meantime  he  travelled  to  and  fro,  lec- 
turing, addressing  crowds  in  the  meeting-houses, 
halls,  theatres ; writing  letters  to  committees,  visit- 
ing men  of  influence,  inspecting  hospitals  and  camps, 
making  himself  acquainted  with  the  newest  methods 
of  dealing  with  sanitary  problems,  and  imparting 
ideas  as  fast  as  they  came  to  him.  His  activity  was 
prodigious.  He  was  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
figures  in  the  country.  He  brought  the  Commission 
into  universal  repute.  Under  his  spell  it  lost  its 
local  character  and  became  a national  concern.  He 
was  a Unitarian  preacher;  his  immediate  co-opera- 
tors  were  Unitarians ; yet  so  broad  and  mundane 
was  he  that  no  savor  of  sectarianism  mingled  with 
his  zeal,  nor  could  it  be  suspected,  except  for  his 
aims,  that  he  was  a clergyman.  As  long  as  the 
war  lasted  this  energy  continued,  the  enthusiasm 
did  not  abate,  the  outpouring  did  not  slacken. 
It  was  not  till  the  struggle  was  over  that  the 
over-tasked  brain  craved  repose.  Then  the  reaction 
was  purely  nervous,  not  in  the  least  moral  or  intel- 
lectual. He  sprang  up  again  and  threw  himself  into 
new  enterprises  with  the  old  fervor  and  the  old  bril- 
liancy of  speech,  striving  to  awaken  a desire  for 
religious  unity,  as  he  had  promoted  national  concord. 
The  establishment  of  the  National  Conference  of 
Liberal  Churches,  which  was  to  supplement  the 


86 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


more  local  Unitarian  Associations,  was  bis  suggestion. 
The  scheme  did  not  entirely  meet  his  expectations, 
but  this  shows  how  large  his  expectations  were,  and 
how  comprehensive  were  his  purposes  of  good.  As 
has  been  intimated  already,  his  desires  were  in 
advance  of  his  practical  ability.  He  was  a man  of 
wishes  rather  than  of  expedients.  His  plans  often 
failed,  but  his  aspirations  were  always  pure  and 
lofty,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  him  to  impute  the 
failure  of  the  special  plan  to  some  stubbornness  in 
the  materials  he  attempted  to  manipulate,  rather 
than  to  any  deficiency  in  his  own  faculty.  Thus  his 
confidence  in  himself  was  sustained,  and  he  went  on 
trying  experiments  and  believing  in  his  talent  to 
set  anything,  even  communities  and  States,  on  their 
feet. 

People  used  to  say  that  his  advocacy  was  very 
uncertain ; that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  in  advance 
whether  he  would  take  a liberal  or  a conservative 
view  of  a party  or  dogma ; in  short,  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  somewhat  of  a chameleon,  of 
catching  his  line  from  the  last  person  he  talked  with. 
One  of  his  parishioners  remarked,  jestingly,  that  the 
hearers  of  Dr.  Bellows  were  taught  in  perfection  one 
lesson, — that  of  self-reliance.  This  was  probably 
true, as  it  was  a general  impression;  and  it  illustrates 
the  warmth  of  his  sympathy,  the  impressionableness 
of  his  temperament,  the  readiness  of  his  adaptation, 
the  facility  of  his  discourse,  as  well  as  the  want  of 
depth  in  his  speculative  intellect  and  his  lack  of 


NEW  YORK. 


8 7 


hold  on  fundamental  principles.  He  was  an  advo- 
cate by  nature,  not  a theologian,  a philosopher,  or  a 
critic ; an  adept  in  speech,  not  a subtle  or  profound 
thinker.  He  saw  the  effective  points  in  either  doc- 
trine, and  chose  the  one  that  was  most  captivating 
at  the  time.  His  eclecticism  was  simply  ease  of 
transference,  not  a keen  perception  of  the  grounds 
of  identity.  His  logic  was  the  skilful  accommoda- 
tion to  circumstances,  not  absolute  fidelity  to  the 
laws  of  reason.  His  affluence  of  diction  and  his 
profusion  of  thoughts  covered  up  his  essential 
poverty  of  insight,  and  persuaded  some  that  he 
looked  farther  than  he  did  ; but  still  it  remains  true 
that  he  was  not  a sure  guide  in  matters  of  opinion. 
He  was  a most  adroit,  subtle,  engaging  talker,  and 
as  such  was  of  incalculable  value ; a fountain  of  en- 
tertainment, and  a source  of  influence.  A decided 
vein  of  Bohemianism  ran  through  his  character.  He 
was  light-hearted,  gay,  versatile,  fond  of  fun,  restless, 
addicted  to  society,  abhorrent  of  solitude,  darkness, 
confinement ; a friend  of  artists,  musicians,  wits ; a 
club-man  ; could  smoke  a cigar,  and  drink  a glass  of 
wine,  and  tell  a merry  story ; a man  of  quick 
emotions,  volatile  some  would  call  him,  though  of 
unquestioned  and  unquestionable  loyalty  when  any 
principle  was  at  stake,  or  any  person  he  loved  and 
trusted  was  in  trouble.  Otherwise  he  forgot  un- 
pleasant things  and  went  to  something  else,  dropping 
the  individual,  but  holding  fast  to  the  elements  of 
charity.  This  faculty  of  changing  rapidly  from  one 


88 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


interest  to  another  saved  him  from  a vast  deal  of 
fatigue,  and  enabled  him  to  pursue  his  almost  incredi- 
ble labors  with  less  wear  and  tear  than  would  have 
been  possible  under  other  circumstances.  The  forma- 
tion of  roots,  aud  the  necessity  of  pulling  them  up 
frequently  with  a feeling  of  loss  and  pain,  is  sadly 
weakening  and  disabling.  This  fosters  a disposition 
to  stay  at  home,  to  form  few  ties,  to  remain  quietly 
where  one  is  placed  by  destiny,  to  expose  one’s  self 
to  no  more  disruptions  than  are  appointed,  to  hide 
one’s  self  in  a corner  of  existence,  to  avoid  the  wind. 
The  scholar  hugs  his  library,  reads  books,  meditates, 
cultivates  his  mind,  appears  in  public  only  when  he 
is  prepared.  The  man  of  society  dashes  out  and 
deems  the  time  wasted  that  is  passed  in  the  house, 
Dr.  Bellows  once  expressed  his  wonder  that  a friend 
should  have  no  desire  to  go  abroad,  but  should  be 
content  in  his  study. 

He  was  a knight-errant,  a Norman  gentleman, 
ever  ready  to  succor  the  oppressed,  but  satisfied 
when  he  had  unhorsed  the  oppressor,  though  the 
victim  lay  helpless  on  the  ground.  He  derived  his 
name  from  “ Belles  Eaux.”  He  was  not  a democrat 
as  implying  one  that  had  affinities  with  the  people. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  at  bottom  an  aristocrat, 
looking  down  on  the  people ; but  he  was  humane  in 
idea,  holding  it  to  be  the  part  of  a gentleman  to 
relieve  the  unfortunate.  The  motto,  “ Noblesse 
oblige'1''  applied  to  him  exactly,  with  the  under- 
standing that  he  belonged  to  the  Noblesse,  and  was 

O O J 


NEW  YORK. 


89 


privileged  to  patronize.  This  tendency  was  prom- 
inent in  him.  He  would  not  allow  a companion  to 
pay  his  car  fare,  because  he  would  not  borrow  so 
small  a sum,  but  he  confronted  the  man  to  whom  he 
had  lent  fifty  dollars,  and  who  had  forgotten  the 
payment,  as  people  often  do.  Meeting  the  defaulter 
in  the  street,  he  reminded  him  of  the  transaction, 
taxed  him  with  infidelity  to  his  engagements,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  receiving  his  money  and 
relieving  his  mind  at  the  same  time.  Magnanimous 
he  was  by  nature.  I will  give  a single  instance  of 
it,  out  of  several  I could  detail  if  personalities  did  not 
forbid.  When  I first  came  to  New  York  to  found  a 
parish,  there  was  a woman  in  my  congregation,— an 
angular,  brusque  woman,  not  sunny  or  agreeable, — 
whose  husband,  being  unfortunate,  had,  to  repair  his 
fortune,  gone  to  San  Francisco  ; she  stayed  in  New 
York  and  kept  school,  for  the  purpose  of  educating 
her  children,  and  of  eking  out  the  family  expenses. 
One  day,  complaining  to  me  of  her  lot  and  labor, 
she  spoke  of  certain  prejudices  against  her  as  inter- 
fering witli  her  success,  and  accused  Dr.  Bellows  of 
being  one  of  her  enemies.  Having  satisfied  myself 
of  the  injustice  of  the  impression  about  her,  and  of 
her  worthy  deserving,  I took  occasion  at  once  to 
speak  to  Dr.  Bellows  on  the  subject.  Reminding 
him  of  the  circumstances  in  which  the  woman  was 
placed,  I asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  she  ought  to 
be  helped  instead  of  being  hindered.  He  acknowl- 
edged that  he  knew  her,  that  he  did  not  like  her, 


9o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


that  lie  had  spoken  harshly  of  her  under  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  not  deserving  of  moral  support. 
On  my  presentation  of  her  case,  and  conviction  that 
he  was  wrong,  he,  being  persuaded  of  his  heedless- 
ness, offered  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  repair 
auy  mischief  he  might  have  caused.  In  my  excite- 
ment, I became  audacious  and  suggested  the  drawing 
up  and  signing  of  a paper, — about  the  most  disagree- 
able thing  that  could  be  proposed.  But  he  assented, 
prepared  the  paper,  affixed  his  signature,  and  from 
that  hour  did  his  utmost  to  befriend  the  woman 
whom  he  took  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of.  This  was 
noble,  even  great.  He  could  put  his  personal  tastes 
aside  when  a principle  was  involved. 

It  used  to  be  urged  against  him  that  he  dropped 
people  when  he  had  done  with  them,  and  felt  no 
scruple  in  sacrificing  them  to  his  views  of  policy. 
But  it  cannot  be  proved  that  he  was  false  to  any- 
body, and  his  notion  of  the  absolute  unfitness  of  the 
individual  for  his  place,  or  of  the  man’s  unreliability, 
wras  probably  the  real  cause  of  his  opposition.  Prob- 
ably, in  each  instance  of  his  withdrawal  of  confidence, 
there  were  excellent  reasons  for  his  conduct,  though 
it  was  natural  that  those  who  were  suddenly  neg- 
lected or  displaced  should  feel  indignant  and  ag- 
grieved. Dr.  Bellows  wras  not  one  to  act  on  a private 
prejudice  or  a personal  pique.  His  affections  were 
strong  and  would  have  led  him  to  make  any  con- 
cession that  was  consistent  with  what  he  regarded 
as  his  public  duty.  No  doubt  he  was  somewhat 


NEW  YORK. 


91 


imperious  in  judging  wliat  his  duty  was ; he  lacked 
the  useful  faculty  of  remaining  in  the  background  ; 
he  was  impetuous  and  forward  ; but  he  never  was 
or  could  be  insincere,  and  he  always  had  a sufficient 
explanation  of  the  course  he  pursued, — an  explanation 
perfectly  satisfactory  to  one  wffio  bore  his  tempera- 
ment in  mind  and  considered  what  he  could  do  and 
what  he  could  not. 

A most  lovable,  cordial,  faithful  man  I always 
found  him,— a man  to  be  depended  on  in  difficult 
and  trying  times,  high-minded,  courageous,  daring, 
ready  to  enter  the  breach,  happiest  when  leading  a 
forlorn  hope,  straight-forward,  inspiring,  easily  lifted 
beyond  himself,  and  imparting  nervous  vigor  to  his 
followers.  Followers  he  must  have,  for  he  was  not 
content  to  obey  any  behest ; but  then  his  leadership 
was  so  hearty  and  wholesome,  so  free  from  super- 
ciliousness, so  abundant  in  expressions  of  loyalty, 
that  it  was  a joy  to  go  with  him.  He  was  more  than 
willing  to  do  his  share  of  hard  work,  and  to  indulge 
his  servants.  If  one  could  forbear  to  cross  him,  he 
was  friendliness  itself ; a warm  advocate  of  liberty, 
only  insisting  that  liberty  and  progress  should  march 
hand  in  hand  ; that  private  idiosyncrasies  should  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  practical  advance.  He  was  a 
very  different  man  from  Dr.  Dewey,  yet  he  loved 
Dr.  Dewey  devotedly  while  life  lasted.  He  was  an 
entirely  different  man  from  me  in  temperament  and 
in  gifts, — quite  opposite  in  fact, — yet  he  was  one  of 
the  best  of  my  friends  as  long  as  he  lived,  seldom 


92 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


resenting  my  radicalism,  never  impatient  of  my  slow- 
ness, but  warm,  sunny,  helpful  to  the  end.  the  man 
to  whoin  I instinctively  resorted  for  sympathy  in  the 
most  painful  passages  of  my  career. 

In  a word,  the  foundation  of  his  character  was 
impulse.  He  was  a man  of  fiery  zeal,  of  moral  pas- 
sion, of  vast  enthusiasm,  and  when  a storm  of  spir- 
itual power  came  sweeping  down  from  some  unseen 
height,  he  was  easily  carried  away.  This  impulsive 
character  explains  his  chivalry  of  disposition,  his 
magnanimity,  his  self-abnegation  ; for  though  he  was 
self-asserting,  he  could  at  once  forget  himself,  and 
sink  his  own  individuality  entirely  when  some  cause 
he  had  at  heart  strongly  appealed  to  him.  This 
impulsiveness  explains,  too,  his  theological  incon- 
sistency, for  when  the  popular  feeling  struck  him, 
he  was  carried  away  in  a different  direction  from 
what  he  had  first  proposed.  For  instance,  once — I 
think  it  was  at  Buffalo — he  gave  a most  eloquent 
plea  for  individualism,  having  determined  to  speak 
in  favor  of  institutions  ; and  in  Boston  when  he  had 
been  expected  to  uphold  a creed,  he  was  so  borne 
away  by  the  opposite  sentiment  that,  when  he  ended, 
a creed  seemed  absolutely  impossible. 

A very  different  person  from  the  foregoing  was  Dr. 
Samuel  Osgood,  the  successor  of  Dr.  Dewey  in  the 
Church  of  the  Messiah  on  Broadway,  and  the  close 
associate  of  the  pastor  of  “ All  Souls,”  which  name 
he  suggested  when  the  new  edifice  on  the  corner  of 
Fourth  Avenue  and  Twentieth  Street  was  christened. 


NEW  YORK'. 


93 


He  was  a lover  of  ecclesiasticism,  of  forms,  usages, 
ceremonials,  though  he  was  not  unmindful  of  the 
ideas  that  lay  beneath  them,  and  too  good  a New 
Englander,  too  good  a Unitarian,  too  staunch  a 
friend  of  free  thought  to  be  anything  but  a liberal 
Protestant ; a man  of  names  and  dates,  and  insti- 
tuted observances,  not  “ electric,”  “ magnetic,”  or  a 
leader  either  of  thought  or  action  ; not  a man  of 
deep  emotions,  or  moving  eloquence  in  or  out  of  the 
pulpit ; not  a man  of  long  reach  or  wide  influence, 
but  conspicuous  in  his  way,  unique,  worth  studying 
as  a figure  in  his  generation. 

He  was  devoted  to  books,  of  which  he  read  and 
produced  many,  and  might  have  been  called  learned, 
yet  he  was  not  a closet  man,  not  a recluse ; on  the 
contrary,  he  knew  about  public  affairs,  talked  about 
what  was  going  on  in  the  world,  attended  political, 
social,  and  literary  meetings,  was  a member  of  the 
prominent  clubs,  like  the  “ Century  ” and  the  “ Union 
League,”  was  for  years  the  Corresponding  Secretary 
of  the  11  Historical  Society,”  rather  prided  himself, 
in  fact,  on  the  number  and  intimacy  of  his  outside 
relations.  With  all  this,  he  was  a diligent  pastor, 
an  excellent  denominationalist,  a dependence  on  all 
church  occasions  within  his  sect,  a speaker  at  con- 
ventions, a worker  of  the  ecclesiastical  machinery, 
a man  much  relied  on  for  denominational  work. 

His  writings  were  numerous.  In  fact  he  always 
seemed  to  have  the  pen  in  his  hand.  Besides  the 
books  which  are  known, — “ Studies  in  Christian 


94 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Biography,”  “ The  Hearthstone,”  “ God  with  Men," 
“ Milestones  in  Our  Life  Journey,”  “ Student  Life," 
— all  popular  once, — he  contributed  frequently  to 
the  Christian  Examiner,  the  North  American  Re- 
view, the  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  and  other  important 
magazines  ; delivered  orations,  printed  theological 
discourses,  especially  a famous  one  before  the  theo- 
logical school  at  Meadville,  Pennsylvania,  on  “ The 
Coming  Church  and  its  Clergy,”  aud  for  several 
months,  during  Mr.  Curtis’  illness,  prepared  the 
essays  in  the  “ Easy  Chair  ” for  Harper's  Monthly 
Magazine.  His  interest  in  matters  of  education  and 
literature  was  incessant,  active,  and  useful.  He 
made  speeches,  served  on  committees,  prepared  re- 
ports, in  every  way  tried  to  serve  the  cause  of 
rational  knowledge.  Yet  with  all  his  industry  and 
all  his  ability — for  he  possessed  ability  of  no  mean 
order, — he  had  a mind  singularly  destitute  of  vital- 
ity. His  ingenuity,  his  pleasantry,  his  sententious- 
ness, his  versatility,  could  not  conceal  this  lack  of 
organic  power.  His  vivacity  did  not  exhilarate,  his 
happy  expressions  did  not  create  the  sense  of  life  in 
the  mind,  but  were  like  artificial  flowers  that  had  no 
perfume,  and  reminded  one  more  of  the  perfection 
of  art  than  of  the  involuntary  sweetness  of  nature. 
He  was  destitute  of  genius  to  inspire.  It  is  the 
more  wonderful  that  he  could  persevere,  as  he  did, 
without  the  popular  recognition  that  his  talents 
merited,  or  the  applause  his  endeavors  deserved. 
He  had  praise,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  not  hearty  or 


NEW  YORK. 


95 


effusive,  and  they  who  rendered  it  probably  won- 
dered why  they  could  not  put  more  soul  into  their 
laudation.  The  address  was  brilliant,  but  not  warm- 
ing. One  must  come  within  arm’s  length  of  him  to 
feel  the  beating  of  his  heart,  to  be  sensible  of  his 
force.  He  was  unable  to  project  himself  far,  and 
relied  upon  incidental  advantages  of  occasion  for 
effects  which  he  could  not  produce  by  genius. 

He  was  a most  affectionate  man,  dependent,  cling- 
ing, always  ready  to  serve,  obliging,  docile,  patient, 
without  hardness  and  without  guile.  He  was  de- 
voted to  his  family,  faithful  to  his  friends,  never 
allowing  differences  of  opinion  to  interfere  with  his 
duty  towards  those  who  might  expect  support  from 
him,  but  fulfilling  disagreeable  offices  when  he  felt 
that  loyalty  made  perfect  truthfulness  incumbent. 
There  was  something  touching  in  his  fidelity  tow- 
ards men  who  gave  him  nothing  but  outside  recog- 
nition, and  who  were  willing  to  abandon  him  when 
he  could  no  longer  be  useful.  There  was  something 
plaintive  in  his  readiness  to  work  for  men  who  ac- 
cepted his  labor  as  a matter  of  course,  and  allowed 
him  to  throw  away  his  love.  He,  for  his  part,  asked 
no  reward,  but  was  quite  satisfied  if  his  service  was 
accepted  kindly  by  those  to  whom  he  rendered  it. 
Not  that  he  did  not  like  recognition  ; he  did,  and 
the  more  public  it  was  the  better  he  liked  it.  For 
he  was  fond  of  notoriety,  had  a craving  for  publicity, 
and  was  happiest  when  a multitude  applauded. 
This  may  have  grown  out  of  his  affectionateness, 


96 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


for  lie  reached  forth  his  arms  as  widely  as  possible, 
and  wanted  to  hear  the  sound  of  many  approving 
voices,  needing  sympathy  and  the  assurance  that  he 
was  conferring  pleasure,  the  noise  of  plaudits  reas- 
suring his  heart.  Still  he  could  do  without  this,  if 
he  was  certain  of  the  attachment  of  a single  warm 
friend.  Recognition  of  some  sort  was  essential  to 
his  peace,  for  he  did  not  possess  independence  enough 
to  stand  alone,  and  he  cared  too  much  for  individu- 
als to  be  easy  if  they  were  displeased.  He  gave 
himself  a great  deal  of  pain,  worried,  took  infinite 
trouble  about  imaginaiy  sorrows,  not  being  able  to 
feel  or  to  affect  indifference,  and  being  destitute  of 
the  robustness  of  character  necessary  to  throw  off 
unpleasant  things ; for  his  ambition,  not  springing 
from  vitality  of  mind,  was  no  guard  against  griefs  of 
the  spirit.  lie  that  cannot  lose  himself  in  his  studies 
fails  to  derive  from  them  their  best  satisfaction, — 
that  of  consolation  and  refuge.  He  stands  naked  to 
the  wind,  and,  if  his  skin  is  tender,  suffers  acutely. 

Dr.  Osgood  was  intensely  self-conscious,  self-re- 
garding, self-referring.  Not  vain  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  though  he  seemed  so  from  his  countenance, 
attitude,  manner,  for  all  of  which,  I am  persuaded, 
nature  was  more  responsible  than  disposition,  his 
physical  formation  producing  a certain  carriage  that 
suggested  superciliousness  and  conceit.  If  he  were 
forth-putting,  it  was,  in  most  instances  at  least,  be- 
cause he  lacked  self-reliance,  and  wished  to  be  seen , 
knowing  that  he  could  not  be  felt.  In  reality  he 


NEW  YORK. 


97 


was  a modest,  timid,  shrinking  man,  with  an  inordi- 
nate desire  for  distinction,  which  impelled  him  con- 
tinually to  make  a demonstration  in  public.  Mere 
vanity — the  love  of  appearances — he  was  destitute 
of,  for  he  was  too  tender-hearted  and  too  conscien- 
tious to  make  victims.  One  must  be  self-centred  to 
be  vain,  as  he  was  not.  I recollect  his  coming  one 
day  into  the  office  of  the  Christian  Inquirer,  with 
his  head  up  as  usual,  and  calling  out  in  a loud  voice  : 
“Where  do  you  think  I went  on  my  way  down 
town  ? ” Of  course  none  of  us  knew  or  could  guess. 
“Well,”  he  went  on  to  say,  with  an  air  of  compla- 
cency, “ I stopped  at  Fowler  & Wells’  and  had  my 
head  examined.”  “ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  one  of  the  irn- 
pudent,  “ did  they  find  anything,  Sam  ? ” “ What 

they  did  not  find,”  he  said,  “ will  interest  you  more. 
They  declared  that  I was  deficient  in  self-respect, 
and  it  is  true.”  And  it  was  true.  Samuel  Osgood 
assumed  a brave  air,  for  the  reason  that  he  could  not 
trust  himself  in  the  open  field.  He  needed  the  pro- 
tection of  a rampart.  He  wore  a showy  uniform, 
because  he  was  not  valiant.  He  had  too  much  self- 
esteem to  forget  himself,  and  too  little  courage  to 
assert  himself  ; the  consequence  was  that  he  said  and 
did  numerous  things  that  looked  vainglorious  and 
were  absurd,  but  which  were  intended  to  conceal  his 
impuissance.  It  was  an  innocent  kind  of  bravado, 
like  poor  Oliver  Proudfute’s,  in  Scott’s  romance, 
“The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth.”  Nobody  was  hurt  by 

it,  though  to  him  the  passion  for  notoriety  was  fatal. 

7 


98  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

He  liked  to  see  his  name  in  a newspaper,  coveting 
the  kind  of  reputation  that  came  in  that  way,  and 
comforting  his  heart  with  the  thought  of  lying  on 
the  broad  bosom  of  the  community.  His  restless 
desire  for  public  notice  brought  ridicule  on  him,  for 
ordinary  people  ascribed  it  to  his  conceit,  whereas  it 
rather  indicated  an  absence  of  self-confidence.  It 
was  a cloak  to  hide  his  depreciation  at  the  same  time 
that  it  made  him  look  larger  in  the  general  eye.  It 
was,  therefore,  more  touching  than  despicable,  and  if 
it  excited  mirth  there  was  nothing  bitter  in  the  smile 
which  could  not  break  into  laughter.  Selfish  he 
could  not  be  called,  for  he  was  always  serving  others, 
and  disinterestedly  too  ; but  on  a charge  of  compla- 
cency he  could  hardly  be  acquitted.  This  was  the 
manner  in  which  he  took  his  reward,  and,  as  I said, 
it  cost  nothing  to  anybody,  while  the  public  received 
a great  deal  of  service  very  ungrudgingly  bestowed. 

The  change  from  Unitariauism  to  Episcopacy  is 
very  easily  explained.  His  craving  for  sympathy 
was  boundless.  He  was  necessarily  isolated  in  New 
York,  nor  had  he  the  solace  of  a great  popular  suc- 
cess. In  fact  his  following  was  small ; his  church 
was  dwindling  ; his  reputation  was  certainly  not  in- 
creasing ; and  he  became  persuaded,  I think  without 
sufficient  reason,  that  he  was  the  victim  of  adverse 
influences.  In  London,  he  was  charmed  with  the 
blended  freedom  and  sanctity  of  the  “ Broad 
Church”  represented  by  Stanley,  Kingsley,  Jowett, 
and  a host  of  cultivated  men  ; by  its  unity  amid  di- 


NEW  YORK. 


99 


versity  ; its  sympathy  and  fellowship  and  large 
scholarship.  Here  was  a church  indeed ; wide, 
holy,  liberal,  devout,  with  articles  admitting  of 
various  interpretations,  sacraments  tender  and  elas- 
tic, forms  that  did  not  constrain,  and  usages  that  did 
not  bind,  an  unlimited  range  of  speculation,  and  a 
spirit  of  reverence  that  kept  the  most  widely  separa- 
ted together.  Here  was  something  very  different 
from  the  sectarianism  he  had,  all  his  life,  been  ac- 
customed to,  and,  all  his  life,  had  loathed.  He 
joined  this  Communion  not  so  much  on  account  of 
its  creed  as  of  its  creedlessness  / not  as  another  form  of 
denominationalism,  but  as  an  escape  from  deuomina- 
tionalism;  areal,  living,  comprehensive  church,  where 
there  was  room  for  all  Christian  souls,  whatever 
their  special  mode  of  belief ; a Protestant  church 
with  a truly  catholic  temper,  cordial,  humane,  cour- 
teous ; with  a respect  for  literature,  and  a love  for 
knowledge ; with  no  jealousy  or  ill-will,  or  fear  of 
thought.  His  heart  was  warmed,  his  fancy  fired. 
Shortly  after  his  return,  as  he  sat  in  my  study,  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  materially  changed  his  theology. 
He  replied  that  he  had  not,  he  had  simply  altered 
the  emphasis  ; as  much  as  to  say  that  in  substance 
it  remained  what  it  was  before,  essentially  Unitarian, 
as  he  understood  that  designation.  In  fact,  his  ser- 
mons were  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  same ; 
they  never  abounded  in  doctrine,  they  did  not  now  ; 
they  were  always  “sentimental,”  in  the  sense  of 
dealing  with  sentiment,  they  were  so  still.  He  was 


IOO 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


not  a prime  favorite  with  Episcopalians  in  America. 
He  was  not  narrow  or  strict  enough  for  the  ortho- 
dox ; he  was  not  “ sensational  ” enough  for  the  lib- 
erals ; he  was  too  ecclesiastical  for  the  Low  Church- 
men ; too  rationalistic  for  the  High  Churchmen ; 
and  his  failure  to  communicate  warmth  was  not 
favorable  to  his  attractiveness.  There  were  not 
many  Broad  Church  ministers  in  New  York,  so  that 
his  circle  of  fellowship  Avas  small ; and  on  the  Avhole 
the  reception  Avas  a disappointment.  He  longed  for 
recognition,  Avhich  he  found  among  many  of  his  old 
associates,  as  he  did  not  find  it  among  his  new 
friends.  He  was  ahvays  a churchman  when  he  was 
a Unitarian  ; he  was  no  more  of  a churchman  now, 
and  the  sympathy  he  sought  he  might  haATe  found  in 
his  former  connection.  Probably  had  he  lhred 
elsewhere  than  in  NeAV  York,  Avhere  the  competition 
was  sharp,  and  where  individuality  alone  Avithout 
distinguished  power  counted  for  nothing,  he  would 
have  continued  Unitarian,  and  been  happy,  but  he 
was  ambitious  of  eminence  ; he  Avanted  to  live  in  a 
great  city,  to  be  minister  of  a metropolitan  parish,  to 
be  a Doctor  of  Divinity,  and  for  all  this  he  lacked 
the  force.  There  Avas  a perpetual  conflict  betAveen 
his  aspirations  and  his  vigor.  He  joined  the  Epis- 
copal fraternity,  hoping  for  what  none  but  those 
born  into  it  attain  Avithout  energy  of  an  exalted 
kind.  His  ancient  comrades  fell  aAvay,  as  was 
natural ; he  could  not  Avin  other  comrades,  and  his 
later  years  became  lonely.  He  cared  more  for 


NEW  YORK. 


IOI 


Christian  fellowship  than  for  any  other ; and  he  had 
not  the  power  to  secure  this.  Thus  his  affectionate- 
ness was  against  him.  He  was  a loyal  man,  true  to 
his  convictions,  faithful  to  the  bent  of  his  mind.  He 
could  not  be  a deceiver  or  a renegade,  and  his  heart 
was  not  strong  enough  or  wide  enough  to  push  him 
forward. 

Some  thought  him  deficient  in  common-sense,  and 
this  is,  in  a sense,  true.  He  had  not  the  force  to 
carry  projects  through,  nor  had  he  the  hearty  accord 
with  the  people  of  his  generation  that  would  give 
him  an  instinctive  insight  into  their  wishes  and 
enable  him  to  strike  into  the  current  of  their  de- 
signs. His  self-reference  always  stood  in  the  way  of 
his  sympathy  with  other  men  ; yet  he  often  took 
practical  views  of  speculative  questions,  and  curbed 
a propensity  to  moral  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of 
some  of  his  associates.  This,  however,  was  due  to 
his  timidity,  to  his  absence  of  vigor,  to  his  want 
of  vital  conviction,  rather  than  to  any  clearness 
of  perception.  He  had  no  humor,  no  sense  of  the 
incongruous,  the  incompatible,  or  the  absurd.  He 
named  rocks,  groves,  arbors,  on  his  summer  estate, 
after  the  famous  poets,  and  used  to  sit  in  turn  on  the 
seats  he  had  thus  immortalized.  He  said  things  that 
no  man  of  taste  w^ould  have  uttered,  and  did  things 
that  no  man  of  judgment  would  have  been  guilty  of. 
But  all  this  was  owing  to  the  absence  of  sensible 
qualities  rather  than  to  the  presence  of  visionary 
ones.  He  was  not  perverse,  stubborn,  or  wrong- 


102 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


lieaded,  did  not  outrage  common  opinion,  or  fly  in 
the  face  of  established  prejudice.  His  want  of 
good  sense  was  negative,  not  positive ; innocent,  not 
harmful. 

Such  men  have  their  uses  and  their  place,  and 
neither  is  small  or  low.  His  love  of  learning,  Iris 
devotion  to  duty,  his  friendliness,  his  fidelity,  his 
kindliness,  were  rare  gifts,  particularly  rare  in  com- 
munities like  ours.  His  child-like  conceit,  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  aggressive  vanity  that  offends  the 
sensitive  soul,  was  not  offensive  or  noxious,  and  was 
a source  of  harmless  amusement.  His  guilelessness 
was  more  than  touching ; it  was  admirable  as  an 
example  and  as  a lesson,  in  an  age  that  honors 
knowledge  of  the  world  beyond  its  deserts ; and  his 
simplicity  of  nature,  his  trustingness,  his  ingenuous- 
ness, rendered  him  a confiding  friend,  dear  to  those 
whose  hearts  were  sore.  Few  men  living  have  so 
small  a number  of  enemies.  He  did  not  provoke 
the  hostility  he  received.  It  was  possible  to  be 
sorry  for  him  ; it  was  impossible  to  bear  him  malice. 

As  I think  of  him,  the  vision  arises  of  a com- 
placent man,  with  a loud  greeting,  a metallic  voice, 
an  outstretched  hand,  a consequential  manner.  All 
this  is  dust  and  ashes,  but  his  singleness  of  intention 
is  not  dead.  When  everything  else  is  forgotten,  his 
faithfulness  will  be  remembered. 

Both  these  men  gave  me  a warm  welcome ; in 
fact,  my  relations  were  most  friendly  among  the 
other  Unitarian  ministers  in  the  neighborhood.  It 


NEW  YORK. 


103 


was  anticipated,  no  doubt,  that  I would  establish  a 
third  Unitarian  Society  “ up  town,”  of  a liberal  type; 
but  a wide  departure  from  the  existing  order  was 
not  suspected.  The  expectation  was  that  the  usual 
doctrines  were  to  be  proclaimed ; that  the  sacra- 
ments were  to  be  administered ; that  the  regular 
order  was  to  be  observed.  Perhaps  my  willingness 
to  undertake  such  an  enterprise  was  regarded  as 
a sign  of  concession  ou  my  part ; perhaps  it  was 
supposed  that  the  conservative  tone  of  the  city, 
together  with  the  attitude  of  the  other  churches, 
would  repress  the  radical  tendencies  of  the  young 
clergyman ; perhaps  the  trials  incident  to  a new 
society  and  the  confusions  of  the  time  concealed 
somewhat  the  real  bearino;  of  the  undertakino’. 
However  this  may  be,  there  was  no  opposition,  no 
criticism,  no  dictation,  no  proscription  of  radical 
leanings.  My  congregations  were  composed  of  all 
sorts  of  people.  There  were  Unitarians,  Uuiver- 
salists,  u come-outers,”  spiritualists,  unbelievers  of 
all  kinds,  anti-slavery  people,  reformers  generally. 
But  this,  as  being  incidental  to  the  formation  of 
every  liberal  society,  was  not  objected  to.  It  need 
not  have  been  ; for  if  there  had  been  no  interruption, 
no  check,  everything  might  have  gone  smoothly,  as 
in  similar  societies  since. 


VIII. 


WAR. 

Hardly  bad  I got  warm  in  my  place  when  the 
mutterings  of  war  were  in  the  air.  During  the  au- 
tumn of  1859,  on  the  16tli  of  October,  John  Brown 
planned  his  attack  on  Harper’s  Ferry.  His  was  a 
portentous  figure.  His  position  in  history — greater 
than  his  achievements  would  warrant — was  due  partly 
to  his  position  as  herald  of  the  coming  strife,  but 
mainly  to  his  personal  qualities.  These  were  colos- 
sal ; however  much  one  may  criticise  his  particular 
deeds,  or  the  details  of  his  motive,  these  qualities 
can  not  be  exalted  too  highly.  His  courage,  heroism, 
patience,  fortitude,  were  most  extraordinary.  Even 
Governor  Wise,  the  man  whose  duty  it  was  to  see 
him  tried  and  executed  as  a felon,  said  of  him; 
“They  are  mistaken  who  take  Brown  to  be  a mad- 
man. He  is  a bundle  of  the  best  nerves  I ever  saw; 
cut  and  thrust  and  bleeding  and  in  bonds.  He  is  a 
man  of  clear  head,  of  courage,  fortitude,  and  simple 
ingenuousness.  He  is  cool,  collected,  indomitable ; 
and  it  is  but  just  to  him  to  say  that  he  was  humane 
to  his  prisoners,  and  he  inspired  me  with  great  trust 


104 


WAR. 


105 


in  his  integrity  as  a man  of  truth.11  Colonel  Wash- 
ington, another  Virginia  witness,  testified  to  the 
extraordinary  coolness  with  which  Brown  felt  the 
pulse  of  his  dying  son,  while  he  held  his  own  rifle  in 
the  other  hand,  and  cheered  on  his  men.  His  char- 
acter made  his  prison  cell  a shrine.  On  the  day 
of  his  execution,  December  2,  1859,  he  stood  under 
the  gallows  with  the  noose  round  his  neck  for  full 
ten  minutes  while  military  evolutions  were  per- 
formed ; he  never  wavered  a moment,  and  died  with 
nerves  still  subject  to  his  iron  will.  He  was  a Calvin- 
istic  believer  in  predestination ; a real  Covenanter, 
more  like  the  Scotch  Covenanters  of  two  centuries 
ago  than  anything  we  know  of  to-day.  He  was  an 
Old-Testament  man,  and  like  all  fanatics  was  in- 
different to  death,  either  that  of  other  men  or  his 
own.  His  anti-slavery  zeal  began  in  his  youth.  He 
early  took  an  oath  to  make  war  against  slavery,  and, 
it  is  said,  called  his  older  sons  together  on  oue  occa- 
sion and  made  them  pledge  themselves,  kneeling  in 
prayer,  to  the  anti-slavery  crusade.  This  purpose 
he  always  bore  in  mind,  whatever  else  he  was  do- 
ing; he  even  chose  the  spot  for  his  attempt — the 
mountains  which  Washington  had  selected  as  a final 
retreat  should  he  be  defeated  by  the  English.  Nearly 
nine  years  before  his  own  death,  he  exhorted  the 
members  of  the  “ League  of  Gileadites  ” to  stand  by 
one  another  and  by  their  friends  as  long  as  a drop  of 
blood  remained  and  be  hanged,  if  they  must,  but  to 
tell  no  tales  out  of  school. 


io6 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Then  came  the  war.  Though  its  physical  aspect, 
— the  loss  of  treasure  and  of  blood — was  most  affect- 
ing, I cannot  but  think  that  its  mental  and  moral 
aspect  has  been  underrated.  Its  whole  justification 
lay  in  its  moral  character,  and  I must  believe  that 
full  justice  has  never  been  done  to  those  who  were 
obliged  to  stay  at  home  and  uphold  this  feature. 
The  preacher  of  the  Gospel  of  Peace  had  as  much  as 
he  could  do  to  overcome  the  horrors  of  war:  and 
the  preacher  of  Righteousness  was  engaged  all  the 
time  in  promoting  the  cause  of  justice.  They  who 
went  to  the  front  had  the  excitement  of  battle,  the 
pleasures  of  camp-life,  the  assistance  of  comradeship, 
the  comfort  of  sympathy.  The  preacher  had  none 
of  these.  Every  day  rumors  were  reaching  his  ears ; 
“ extras  ” were  flying  about  in  the  silence  ; he  had  to 
comfort  people  under  defeat,  to  humble  them  in 
hours  of  victory ; to  interpret  the  conflict  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principles  of  equity ; to  keep  alive 
the  moral  issues  of  the  struggle.  This  was  an  inces- 
sant weariness  and  anxiety;  to  fight  foes  one  could 
not  see,  and  to  uphold  a cause  that  was  discredited, 
fell  to  his  portion ; it  is  no  wonder  that  when  the 
war  was  over  he  was  spent  and  aged. 

An  illustration  of  a part  of  what  he  had  to  con- 
tend with  is  found  in  the  riot  of  the  summer  of 
1863.  This  was  an  anti-abolitionist  riot,  a fierce 
protest  against  the  conscription,  and  at  the  same 
time  an  uprising  against  the  government,  which  was 
supposed  to  maintain  a war  of  the  blacks  against 


WAR. 


107 


the  whites.  The  riot  was  directed  against  the  ne- 
groes  and  the  abolitionists,  and  was  pitiless  and 
ferocious  in  the  extreme.  It  was  my  lot  to  be  in 
New  York  in  that  dreadful  week  in  July.  I was 
visiting  friends  in  the  upper  part  of  the  town  when 
the  uproar  began.  As  I walked  home  down  Madi- 
son Avenue  a group  of  rough  men  met  me  ; one  of 
them  snatched  at  my  watch  chain,  and  I should  have 
been  maltreated  had  not  more  attractive  game  in  the 
shape  of  people  in  a buggy  drawn  away  the  atten- 
tion of  my  assailants.  I reached  my  home  is  safety. 
The  next  morning,  as  I walked  about  the  city,  there 
were  groups  of  men  standing  idle,  or  armed  with 
missiles,  in  almost  every  street.  Had  the  mob  been 
organized  then  it  mioht  have  done  more  mischief 
than  it  did,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  were  un- 
prepared and  unprotected.  As  I stood  at  night  on 
my  roof,  I could  see  the  fires  in  different  parts  of 
the  town,  and  hear  the  shots.  An  arsenal  stood  on 
Seventh  Avenue,  near  my  house,  full  of  arms  and 
ammunition  which  the  insurgents  wanted.  When 
the  United  States  troops  arrived,  they  defended  this 
arsenal.  Cannons  were  pointed  up  and  down  the 
street,  guards  were  posted,  officers  with  their  clank- 
ing swords  marched  up  and  down  before  my  door. 
The  riot  lasted  three  days, — from  the  13th  to  the 
16th.  On  the  following  Sunday  a sermon  was 
preached  which  gives  expression  to  the  better 
thoughts  of  the  wisest  people,  and  from  which  ac- 
cordingly extracts  are  made  : 


io8 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Of  all  the  dreadful  and  melancholy  passages  in  the  history 
of  human  progress,  none,  to  a thoughtful  man,  are  more  dread- 
ful or  melancholy  than  those  which  tell  how  men  have  resisted, 
pushed  away,  reviled,  cursed,  beaten,  mobbed,  crucified  their 
benefactors.  It  does  seem,  as  we  read  them,  as  if  the  most 
dreaded  thing  on  earth  had  been  the  personal,  the  domestic, 
the  social  welfare  ; as  if  the  deepest  anxiety  on  the  part  of 
men  of  all  sorts  was  an  anxiety  to  escape  from  their  health  and 
salvation  ; as  if  the  profoundest  dread  was  a dread  of  mend- 
ing their  estates,  and  their  utmost  horror  was  a horror  of 
heaven  ! It  does  seem,  as  we  read,  as  if  happiness,  prosperity, 
success,  were  the  pet  aversion  of  mankind  ; as  if  the  signs 
that  were  looked  for  with  the  most  agonized  apprehension 
were  the  signs  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  at  hand.  . . . 
We  saw  this  conspicuously  and  dismally  exemplified  in  the 
events  of  the  past  week.  The  one  man  who,  before  and  above 
all  others,  was  a mark  for  the  rage  of  the  populace,  the  one 
man  whose  name  was  loud  in  the  rabble’s  mouth,  and  always 
coupled  with  a malediction,  the  one  man  who  was  hunted  for 
his  blood  as  by  wolves,  who  would  have  been  torn  in  pieces 
had  the  opportunity  been  afforded,  and  on  whose  account  the 
dwelling  of  a friend  was  literally  torn  in  pieces,  was  a man 
who  had  been  the  steadfast  friend  of  these  very  people  who 
hungered  for  his  blood  ; their  most  constant,  uncompromising, 
and  public  friend  ; thinking  for  them,  speaking  for  them, 
writing  for  them  ; pleading  their  cause  through  the  press,  in 
the  legislature,  from  the  platform  ; excusing  their  mistakes  and 
follies,  asserting  and  reasserting  their  substantial  worth  and 
honesty  and  rectitude,  advocating  their  claims  as  working  peo- 
ple, vindicating  their  rights  as  men  ; proposing  schemes  for  the 
safety  of  their  persons,  the  healthfulness  of  their  houses,  the 
saving  and  increase  of  their  earnings,  the  education  of  their 
children,  the  exemption  of  their  homesteads  from  seizure  in 
cases  of  debt,  the  enlargement  of  their  sphere  of  labor,  the 
transferring  of  their  families  from  the  crowded  city,  where 
they  could  do  little  more  than  keep  themselves  alive  by  ardu- 


WAR. 


109 


ous  toil,  to  the  fruitful  lands  of  the  West,  where  they  could 
become  noble  and  self-respecting  men  and  women.  This  was 
the  man  whose  blood  was  hungered  for.  I need  not  speak  his 
name, — you  know  whom  I mean,  Horace  Greeley, — a man 
whom  some  call  visionary,  but  whose  visions  are  all  of  the 
redemption  of  the  people  ; whom  some  call  “ fool,”  but  who,  if 
he  seem  a fool,  is  foolish  that  the  people  may  be  wise  ; whom 
some  call  “ radical,”  but  whose  radicalism  is  simply  a determi- 
nation that  the  popular  existence  shall  have  a sound,  sure,  and 
deep  root  in  natural  law  and  moral  principle  ; at  all  events,  a 
man  who  has  lived  for  the  people  and  suffered  for  the  people, 
and  been  laughed  at  when  he  suffered  and  because  he  suffered. 
This  was  the  man  whose  blood  was  hungered  for.  And 
yet  the  most  moderate,  kind,  considerate  of  all  the  papers,  the 
last  week,  was  his  paper.  And  I believe  he,  even  had  he 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  would  have  said,  “ For- 
give them,  they  know  not  what  they  do.” 

Indulge  me  in  one  more  personality.  I said  that  the  dwell- 
ing of  a friend  was  pillaged  by  the  mob,  under  the  impression 
that  Mr.  Greeley  lived  there.  What  was  this  dwelling  ? Who 
was  this  friend  ? The  dwelling  was  one  the  like  of  which 
is  rare  in  any  city,  a dwelling  of  happiness  and  peace,  a home 
of  the  tenderest  domestic  affections,  a house  of  large  friendli- 
ness and  hospitality,  a refuge  and  abiding-place  for  the  unfor- 
tunate and  the  outcast.  There  was  no  display  of  wealth  there 
— there  was  no  wealth  to  display  ; yet  the  house  was  full  of 
things  which  no  wealth  could  buy.  It  was  crowded  with 
mementos.  The  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  rooms  had  family 
histories  connected  with  them  ; chairs  and  tables  were  precious 
from  association  with  noble  and  rare  people  who  had  gone. 
Pictures  on  the  walls,  busts  in  the  parlor,  engravings,  photo- 
graphs, books,  spoke  of  the  gratitude  or  love  of  some  dear 
giver.  One  room  was  sacred  to  the  memory  of  a noble  boy, 
an  only  son,  who  had  died  some  years  before.  There  was  his 
bust  in  marble,  there  were  his  books,  there  were  the  prints 
he  liked,  the  little  bits  of  art  he  was  fond  of,  and  all  the  dear 


I IO 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


things  that  seemed  to  bring  him  back.  The  whole  house  was  a 
shrine  and  a sanctuary. 

And  who  were  the  inmates  ? The  master,  a man  whose 
sympathies  were  always  and  completely  with  the  working- 
people,  a man  of  steady  and  boundless  humanity  ; the  mis- 
tress, a woman  whose  name  is  familiar  to  all  doers  of  good 
deeds  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  dear  to  hundreds  of  the 
objects  of  good  deeds.  To  the  orphan  and  friendless  and 
poor,  a mother  ; to  the  unfortunate,  a sister  ; to  the  wretched, 
the  depraved,  the  sinful,  more  than  a friend.  In  the  city 
prison  her  presence  was  the  presence  of  an  angel  of  pitying 
love  ; at  Blackwell’s  Island  she  was  welcome  as  a spirit  of 
peace  and  hope.  The  boys  at  Randall’s  Island  looked  into 
her  face  as  the  face  of  an  angel.  Again  and  again  had  she 
rescued  from  the  life  of  shame  the  countrywoman,  and  possibly 
the  kindred  of  these  very  people  who  plundered  her  house. 
For  the  better  part  of  a year  and  more  she  has  been  in  camp 
and  city  hospitals,  nursing  their  brothers  and  sons,  performing 
every  menial  office.  At  this  moment  she  is  at  Point  Lookout, 
doing  that  work,  amid  discomforts  and  discouragements  that 
would  daunt  a less  resolute  humanity  than  hers,  giving  all  she 
has  and  is  to  the  people , to  the  wounded,  crippled,  bleeding, 
and  broken  people  ; giving  it  for  the  sake  of  the  people — giv- 
ing it  that  the  people  may  be  raised  to  a higher  social  level  ! 
And  she,  forsooth,  must  be  selected  to  have  her  house  pillaged  ! 
She  must  be  stabbed  to  her  heart  of  hearts,  stabbed  through 
and  through,  in  every  one  of  her  affections,  by  these  people 
for  whom  her  life  had  been  a perpetual  process  of  dying  .' 
Why,  if  they  had  but  known  this  that  I have  been  telling  you, 
or  but  a tenth  part  of  it,  those  men  would  have  defended  with 
their  bodies  every  thread  of  carpet  she  trod  on.  But  so  it 
was,  and  so  it  must  be  ! Only  the  best  names  are  ever  taken 
in  vain  on  human  lips,  and  they  are  so  taken  because  they  are 
the  best,  and  best  is  worst  to  those  who  cannot  understand  it. 
Theodore  Winthrop  was  shot  by  a negro.  Did  he  know  what 
he  did  ? ...  In  thinking  of  it  one’s  bosom  is  torn  with 


WAR. 


1 1 1 

distracting  emotions,  and  between  feeling  for  the  persecuted 
and  feeling  for  the  persecutors,  one  almost  loses  the  power  of 
feeling.  Could  anything  be  more  pitiful?  Yes,  one  thing 
more  pitiful  there  was — the  savage  hunting  down  and  perse- 
cution of  the  negroes,  as  if  they,  too,  were  the  enemies  of  these 
working-people.  The  poor,  inoffensive  negroes,  most  innocent 
part  of  the  whole  population  ! Most  quiet,  harmless,  docile 
people,  who  could  not  stand  in  the  way  of  the  white  peo- 
ple if  they  would,  and  who  never  thought  of  anything  but 
of  keeping  out  of  their  way  ! These  the  enemies  of  white 
labor  ! As  if  they  had  not,  for  these  very  white  people, 
borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  tropical  day,  raising  the 
cotton  by  which  we  are  clothed,  and  the  rice  by  which 
we  are  fed  ! As  if  to  these  and  the  like  of  these,  the  white 
people  did  not  owe  a large  share  of  the  manufacturing  towns 
where  they  get  their  bread  ! As  if  the  lowest  foundation 
stones  of  this  very  New  York  of  ours  were  not  cemented  by 
their  bloody  sweat  ! As  if  there  were  too  many  of  them  in 
the  country  now  for  the  country’s  needs,  supposing  the  coun- 
try ever  to  fall  into  a settled  and  civilized  condition  again  ! 
As  if  all  there  are  might  not  by  and  by  be  required  to  do  the 
work  which  white  labor  can  not  for  a long  time,  if  it  can  ever, 
safely  undertake  ! Strange  complications  of  things  ! Strange 
cross-purposes  of  human  nature  ! The  Southern  people  would 
revive  the  slave  trade,  because  they  have  not  black  laborers 
enough,  and  their  allies  among  ourselves  would  banish  or  kill 
all  the  black  people,  because  they  interfere  with  white  labor ! 
A mutual  stabbing  at  each  other’s  hearts  ! And  on  each  side 
a stabbing  to  its  own  heart  ! . . . It  is  a very  mysterious 

thing  in  history,  this  alliance  between  the  most  turbulent  and 
the  most  tyrannical,  the  most  depraved  and  the  most  despotic 
portions  of  society.  The  most  undisciplined,  barbarous, 
savage  members  of  a community  are  ever  in  a league  with  the 
most  overbearing,  insolent,  imperious,  and  domineering  mem- 
bers of  it.  They  who  are  under  the  least  self-control  bow 
most  deferentially  before  those  who  rule  others  with  the  most 


1 12 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


cruel  rod.  The  people  who  were  proudest  of  having  turned 
out  to  a man,  in  London,  for  the  maintenance  of  law  and 
order,  on  the  day  of  the  great  Chartist  demonstration  there, 
were  the  most  immoral  class  in  the  city — proved  by  the  crimi- 
nal returns  to  be  nine  times  as  dishonest,  five  times  as  drunken, 
and  nine  times  as  savage  as  the  rest  of  the  community.  (See 
Spencer’s  “ Social  Statics,”  p.  424.) 

In  Boston,  on  the  occasion  of  the  rendition  of  Anthony 
Burns,  all  the  thieves,  burglars,  cut-throats,  swarmed  from 
their  dens  and  volunteered  with  alacrity  to  enforce  the  fugi- 
tive-slave law.  And  now  the  leaders  of  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy count,  and  count  securely,  on  the  Northern  populace. 
The  fiercest  allies  of  the  only  absolutely  despotic  class  in  the 
country  are  the  outlaws  of  society.  The  men  who  are  fight- 
ing for  the  privileges  of  the  extremest  tyranny,  the  privileges 
not  of  ruling  merely,  but  literally  of  owning  the  laboring  class, 
these  men  have  the  implicit,  unquestioning,  fanatical  loyalty 
of  the  people  who  are  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  social  scale — 
the  people  who  own  nothing  either  of  fortune,  position,  influ- 
ence, or  character,  and  whose  sole  relation  towards  the  despots 
they  worship  is  that  of  mad,  savage  slaves. 

In  Europe  this  alliance  between  the  despotic  and  the 
lawless  may  be  fortunate  for  the  peace  of  the  community. 
In  our  Southern  States  it  is  eminently  conducive  to  the 
tranquillity  they  desire.  But  when  the  lawless  are  here  and 
the  despotic  are  there,  when  the  barbarism  is  in  New  York  and 
the  tyranny  in  Richmond,  when  the  elements  of  discord  and 
turbulence  in  our  Northern  cities  fly  to  support  their  iron- 
handed  rulers  in  the  seceded  States,  there  ensues  a state  of 
things,  especially  in  time  of  war,  that  is  calculated  to  shake 
society  to  its  foundations,  and  fill  every  loyal  heart  with  dread. 
The  unruly,  as  if  they  felt  instinctively  their  lack  of  self-con- 
trol, seek  a ruler — fly  to  the  strongest  to  save  them  from 
themselves,  worship  the  sternest,  the  most  high-handed,  the 
cruellest,  and  by  that  natural  sympathy  with  brutality  are 
maintained  in  subjection  to  law. 


WAR. 


1 13 

Heaven  speed  the  time  when  these  heedless,  reckless, 
licentious  children  of  humanity  may  feel  sensible  of  the  weight 
of  power  without  its  brutality,  may  reverence  authority  when 
it  is  neither  beastly  nor  cruel,  may  yield  obedience  to  Order, 
whose  symbol  is  not  the  sword,  and  to  Law,  whose  badge  is 
not  the  bayonet.  But  till  that  time  comes,  we,  with  thought- 
ful minds  and  sad  hearts  and  sober  consciences,  and  souls  full 
as  we  can  make  them  of  human  charity  and  good-will,  must 
hold  in  our  hands  those  terrible  symbols,  and  in  the  Christian 
spirit  do  the  ruler’s  part. 

The  insurrection  did  not  last  long.  As  soon  as 
the  United  States  troops  appeared  the  trouble  was 
over  and  order  was  restored.  There  was  fighting; 
there  was  pillage  ; but  how  many  lives  were  lost  and 
how  much  property  was  destroyed  was  never  ex- 
actly known.  On  the  whole,  the  riot  strengthened 
the  hands  of  the  government,  increased  pity  for  the 
victims  of  outrage,  and  excited  sympathy  for  the 
negroes  and  the  abolitionists.  The  priests,  as  I well 
remember,  helped  in  the  work  of  pacification.  On 
the  second  day  of  the  uprising,  as  I was  visiting 
a friend  in  his  studio  on  Fifth  Avenue,  the  mob 
came  along,  shouting,  yelling,  brandishing  clubs,  on 
their  way  to  the  archbishop’s  palace,  to  hear  an 
address  by  him.  The  prelate  appeared  on  the  bal- 
cony dressed  in  full  canonicals,  in  order  to  impress 
the  people,  and  delivered  a most  ingenious  and  per- 
suasive address.  Beginning  “ Men  of  New  York,” 
he  flattered  their  self-esteem,  paid  a tribute  to  their 
sense  of  power  and  exalted  influence,  and  advised 

them  against  cruelty  and  anarchy.  The  effect  of 
8 


1 14  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

this  speech  was  surprising  in  soothing  and  quieting 
the  crowd.  They  had  come  there  in  a mood  of 
tumult — they  separated  peacefully  and  went  to  their 
own  homes,  satisfied.  From  that  hour  the  soul  of  the 
riot  was  broken. 

The  incidents  of  the  war  cannot  be  detailed  here. 
The  story  has  been  told  too  often,  and  is  altogether 
too  long  for  my  space.  And  after  all  the  moral 
issues  of  the  war  were  the  most  interesting  though 
not  the  most  pathetic.  The  sentiment  of  union,  the 
establishment  of  the  national  supremacy,  the  au- 
thority of  the  reign  of  law,  the  emancipation  of  a 
degraded  race,  the  new  inspiration  imparted  to  a 
great  people,  and  the  advent  of  a universal  republi- 
canism were  most  significant.  It  is  quite  likely  that 
the  modern  uprising  of  labor  and  the  urgent  claims 
of  women  for  recognition  and  civil  power  were 
aided,  if  not  suggested,  by  this  overwhelming  tri- 
umph of  order  and  enlightenment.  It  is  more  than 
likely  that  the  position  of  the  United  States,  as  a 
power  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  was  due 
mainly  to  the  victory  that  was  achieved  by  the 
powers  of  liberty. 


IX. 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION. 


The  happy  ending  of  the  war  stimulated,  as  has 
been  said,  the  sentiment  of  Unity.  The  success  of 
the  government  in  putting  down  the  rebellion  filled 
the  air  with  the  spirit  of  union.  The  restoration  of 
political  harmony  suggested  a deeper  harmony,  when 
divisions  should  cease.  At  this  moment,  in  April, 
1865,  the  indefatigable  Ur.  Bellows,  who  had  been 
the  soul  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  summoned  all 
Christian  believers  of  the  liberal  persuasions  to  a 
convention  in  his  church  for  a more  complete  organi- 
zation. The  invitation  was  most  generously  inter- 
preted, and  was  hailed  by  some  who  could  be  called 
Christians  only  under  the  most  elastic  definition  of 
the  term.  A prominent  layman  of  the  Unitarian 
body  brought  an  elaborate  creed  which  he  wished 
the  convention  to  adopt;  and  a distinguished  minis- 
ter of  the  West  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  work 
of  perfect  organization  could  best  be  done  by  the 
adoption  of  stringent  articles  of  faith.  But  the 
minimum  of  belief  was  imposed.  The  preamble 
of  the  constitution,  the  work  of  reconciling  minds, 


115 


II 6 RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

reads  thus : “ Whereas  the  great  opportunities  and 
demands  for  Christian  labor  and  consecration,  at 
this  time,  increase  our  sense  of  the  obligations  of  all 
disciples  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  prove  their 
faith  by  self-denial  and  by  the  devotion  of  their 
lives  and  possessions  to  the  service  of  Grod,  and 
the  building  up  of  the  kingdom  of  his  son,  There- 
fore.” Then  follow  the  articles.  It  was  this  phrase, 
“ Lord  Jesus  Christ,”  that  provoked  discussion.  The 
struggle  was  renewed  at  Syracuse  on  October  8th  of 
the  next  year,  1866,  and  an  attempt  was  made  to 
explain  away  the  force  of  the  declaration  by  an- 
nouncing that  while  the  preamble  and  articles  of  the 
constitution  represented  the  opinions  of  the  majority, 
yet  they  were  not  to  be  considered  an  authoritative 
test  of  Unitarianism,  or  to  exclude  from  fellowship 
any  who  though  differing  in  belief  “ are  in  general 
sympathy  with  our  purpose  and  practical  aims.” 
But  this  was  not  considered  by  the  radicals  as  satis- 
factory. For  in  the  first  place  the  title  of  “Lord  ” 
seemed  to  contain  by  implication  a doctrine  which 
could  not  be  subscribed  to,  as  the  “ Lordship  ” of 
Jesus  was  supposed  to  be  supernatural.  Here 
seemed  to  be  a fundamental  difference  between 
those  who  held  to  the  old  world’s  idea  of  a spiritual 
kingdom,  and  those  who  proclaimed  the  new  world's 
idea  of  a spiritual  democracy.  In  fact,  one  of  the 
leaders — Hr.  Bellows — plainly  said  if  there  was  to 
be  any  change  it  must  be  made  in  the  other  direc- 
tion ; “ we  are  to  consider  not  only  the  few  on  the 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION.  I 17 

one  side,  who  may  or  may  not  care  to  unite  with  us, 
but  the  great  body  of  Christians  of  ail  denomina- 
tions, the  Universal  Church  of  Christ ; I demand 
liberality  to  them,  the  liberality  which  acknowledges 
their  Lord  and  Leader,  and  welcomes  them  to  a 
household  whose  hearth  glows  with  faith  in  and 
loyalty  to  the  personal  Saviour.”  It  was  plainly  de- 
clared by  him  that  Unitarians  assumed  the  name  of 
liberal  Christians,  because  they  allowed  liberality  of 
inquiry  and  opinion  within  the  pale  of  Christian 
disciple  ship.  This  of  itself  was  enough  to  create  a 
palpable  division,  but  it  was  felt  besides  that  free- 
dom of  interpretation  did  not  imply  freedom  of  re- 
jection. The  phrase  Lordship  of  Jesus,  although  as 
little  of  a creed  as  could  be  devised,  was  hostile  to 
freedom,  besides  not  being  altogether  true,  as  Jesus 
never  claimed  to  be  infallible.  / The  radicals,  under 
the  lead  of  Francis  E.  Abbot,  attempted  to  introduce 
a substitute  for  the  original  preamble,  inculcating 
unity  of  spirit  and  of  work  as  the  basis  of  the  “ Na- 
tional Conference  of  Unitarian  and  Independent 
Churches.”  This  substitute  was  not  carried,  and  a 
final  breach  between  the  Independents  and  the  Uni- 
tarians was  thus  established.  This  was  inevitable 
twenty-five  years  ago ; it  could  not  happen  to-day  ? 
when  both  wings  are  united  in  one  body. 

For  my  part  I did  not  go  to  Syracuse,  having 
foreseen  what  eventually  occurred,  namely,  the  in- 
tended solidification  of  the  Unitarian  body  by  the 
strengthening  of  the  bonds  of  organization.  My  own 


1 1 8 RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

personal  experience,  which  other  radicals  knew 
nothing  of,  led  me  to  this  conclusion.  My  church 
edifice  on  40th  Street  was  begun  in  the  spring  of 
1863.  The  two  ministers  in  New  York  were  present 
at  the  informal  service  of  laying  the  corner-stone. 
The  walls  were  going  up  during  the  summer ; on  the 
week  of  the  riot  the  mob  called  the  workmen  off, 
threatening  to  destroy  what  was  built  if  the  masons 
did  not  leave.  The  building  was  finished  in  the 
winter,  and  dedicated  on  Christmas  Da}x  To  the 
warm  personal  invitation  which  was  sent  to  all  the 
Unitarian  clergy  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn — there 
were  but  three  then — no  response  was  returned;  and 
when  my  father  and  I went  to  the  church  there  were 
no  ministers  on  the  platform.  We  "went  through 
the  service,  my  father  offering  the  prayer  and  1 
preaching  the  sermon.  No  remark  was  made  at  the 
time  beyond  an  expression  of  surprise  at  the  non- 
appearance  of  the  “ brethren.”  The  next  day  my 
father,  who  had  come  from  Boston  on  purpose  to 
attend  the  dedication,  and  whose  blindness  was 
approaching  fast,  went  to  make  a friendly  visit  on 
Dr.  Bellows.  On  his  return,  when  asked  if  any 
reasou  was  assigned  for  the  failure  to  participate  in 
the  proceedings  of  the  day  before,  he  said  that  the 
duties  of  Christmas  were  alleged  as  the  cause.  I was 
sure  there  was  another  explanation  behind ; and  as 
soon  as  I had  put  my  father  in  the  train  for  home 
wrote  to  Dr.  Bellows,  taxing  him  among  the  rest 
with  discourtesy.  It  was  evident  that  such  a charge 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION.  I ig 

was  anticipated  and  prepared  for ; that  the  ministers 
had  met  and  had  agreed  on  a course  to  be  pursued 
in  my  case.  For  at  once  there  came  a reply  to  my 
note,  accusing  me  of  studiously  neglecting  all  the 
usual  observances  of  the  denomination.  My  invita- 
tion had  not  been  official ; there  was  no  “ church  ” ; 
there  had  never  been  any  sacrament ; the  allegiance 
to  fundamental  doctrines  of  the  sect  had  been  slack. 
All  this  was  true,  and  no  attempt  at  exculpation 
was  made,  but  it  was  felt  that  a breach  existed. 
The  excitements  of  the  war  overshadowed  every- 
thing else  at  this  period,  and  nothing  more  was  said. 
My  Society  was  duly  represented  at  the  first  con- 
ference ; but  as  soon  as  our  side  was  argued, — as  it 
was  by  D.  A.  Wasson, — it  was  plain  that  the  spirit 
of  organization  prevailed  and  was  against  us.  A 
division  was  inevitable.  The  “ Independents  ” must 
form  a separate  party. 

This  virtual  exclusion  occasioned  the  formation  of 
the  Free  Religious  Association.  A meeting  was 
held  on  the  5th  of  February,  1867,  at  Dr.  C.  A.  Bar- 
tors,  in  Boston,  to  consider  a plan  for  creating  a new 
association  on  the  basis  of  free  thought.  Very 
strong  words  were  spoken  on  that  occasion.  One 
man,  I recollect,  spoke  of  all  churches,  all  ministers, 
and  all  religion  as  being  outgrown.  But  the  ma- 
jority were  of  the  opinion  that  religion  was  an 
eternal  necessity,  and  the  administration  of  it  an 
absolute  demand.  Dr.  Bartol  himself  was  always  a 
warm  friend  of  the  Association,  appearing  on  the 


120 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


platform,  speaking  always  hopefully,  one  of  the 
most  welcome  of  its  supporters.  The  Association 
was  formed  in  the  spring  of  that  same  year.  In  the 
plan  of  organization  it  was  distinctly  announced  that 
the  aim  of  the  Association  was  to  “ promote  the  in- 
terest of  pure  religion,  to  encourage  the  scientific 
study  of  theology,  and  to  increase  fellowship  in  the 
spirit ; and  to  this  end  all  persons  interested  in  these 
objects  are  cordially  invited  to  its  membership.” 
Thus  the  object  of  the  Association  was  exceedingly 
broad.  It  proposed  to  remove  all  dividing  lines  and 
to  unite  all  religious  men  in  bonds  of  pure  spiritu- 
ality, each  one  being  responsible  for  his  own  opinion 
alone,  and  in  no  degree  affected  in  his  relations  'with 
other  associations.  If  the  movement  had  been  in 
the  hands  of  orthodox  and  well-reputed  people,  it 
would  have  seemed  not  only  large  but  noble  and 
beneficent.  Being,  as  it  was,  in  the  hands  of  a few 
radical  clergymen  and  laymen,  it  was  supposed  to  be 
“ infidel  ” in  its  character ; and  was  misrepresented 
and  abused  accordingly. 

At  first,  the  dissensions  of  the  sects  were  rebuked. 
Afterwards,  the  scope  of  the  idea  was  extended  ; all 
the  religions  of  the  world  being  put  on  an  equality 
of  origin  and  purpose.  The  spiritual  nature  of  man 
was  assumed;  the  universality  of  religious  feeling; 
the  inherent  tendency  to  worship,  aspiration,  prayer, 
being  taken  for  granted  as  an  element  in  the  best 
minds;  all  churches  and  confessions  of  faith  being 
looked  upon  as  achievements  of  the  soul ; Jesus 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION. 


1 2 I 


being  classed  among  the  leaders  of  humanity;  the 
Bible  being  accepted  as  a record  of  spiritual  and 
moral  truth ; and  the  church  being  regarded  as  an 
organization  to  diffuse  belief.  The  foundation, 
therefore,  was  a pure  Theism,  and  the  effort  con- 
templated the  elevation  of  all  mankind  to  the  dig- 
nity of  children  of  the  Highest.  That  this  aim  was 
always  borne  in  mind  is  not  pretended.  The  nega- 
tive side  was  made  too  conspicuous.  Now  and  then 
there  was  a lurch  in  the  direction  of  denial.  There 
was  too  much  criticism,  and  it  was  not  always  just. 
There  was  too  much  speculation,  and  it  was  not 
always  wise.  The  plan  of  letting  each  sect  tell  its 
own  story  was  a little  confusing  at  the  start.  Still, 
on  the  whole,  the  object  was  pretty  faithfully  kept 
in  view.  Lucretia  Mott  suggested  that  the  word 
“religion”  should  be  substituted  for  the  word 
“ theology,”  but  the  word  “ religion  ” was  too  vague 
to  afford  ground  for  discussion,  and  it  was  felt  that 
the  phrase  “ scientific  ” sufficiently  explained,  through 
the  substitution  of  the  scientific  for  the  theological 
method,  the  purpose  of  the  association.  Moreover, 
the  purpose  was  to  remove  theological  differences, 
the  only  differences  that  existed. 

There  were  names  of  distinguished  men  and  women 
on  our  list  of  officers,  members,  speakers,  and  friends 
— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Amos  Bronson  Alcott, 
Gerrit  Smith,  George  William  Curtis,  Edward  L. 
Youmans,  Nathaniel  Holmes,  William  Lloyd  Garri- 
son, Wendell  Phillips,  Rowland  G.  Hazard,  Lucretia 


122 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Mott,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  Ednah  D.  Cheney.  Thomas 
W.  Higginson  was  one  of  our  most  effective  speakers ; 
John  Weiss  read  on  our  platform  his  most  brilliant 
paper  on  “ Science  and  Religion  ” ; David  Atwood 
Wasson  lent  us  the  light  of  his  countenance. 

Our  greatest  want  was  the  want  of  a leader, — a 
man  not  only  of  competent  learning  and  spiritual 
enthusiasm,  but  of  natural  impulse  and  vigor ; a man. 
of  the  people,  a man  of  rugged  speech,  a man  of 
vivacity  and  humor.  If  Theodore  Parker  had  been 
alive  he  might  have  taken  this  position,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  a leader  in  this  movement  ; as 
it  was,  there  was  no  one  who  could  take  his  place, 
and  the  enterprise  flagged  accordingly,  lacking  the 
popular  zeal  which  would  give  it  currency.  The 
speculative  character  of  the  association  was  always 
against  it  and  rendered  it  somewhat  dry ; but  this 
under  the  circumstances  was  inevitable,  because  we 
were  forced  to  deal  with  technicalities  of  credence, 
and  had  not  power  enough  to  get  beyond  them  into 
the  universalities  of  faith. 

There  was  an  expectation  in  many  quarters  that 
the  association  would  devote  itself  to  beneficent  pro- 
jects ; and  this  was  natural,  because  it  seemed  as  if 
those  who  gave  up  the  bond  of  belief  must  adopt 
the  bond  of  work.  Mr.  Emerson  seems  to  have  had 
a similar  desire.  “ I wish,”  he  said,  “ that  the  various 
beneficent  institutions  which  are  springing  up  like 
joyful  plants  of  wholesomeness  all  over  this  country, 
should  all  be  remembered  as  'within  the  sphere  of 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION. 


123 


this  committee, — almost  all  of  them  are  represented 
here, — and  that  within  this  little  band  that  has 
gathered  here  to-day  should  grow  friendship.”  But 
in  the  first  place,  ours  was  not  a philanthropic  insti- 
tution ; its  aim  was  religious  entirely,  as  it  attempted 
to  substitute  the  universality  of  religion  for  the 
one  faith  of  Christendom.  The  chief  workers  in 
several  forms  of  charity  presented  their  schemes  for 
our  consideration,  and  at  one  time  it  looked  as  if  we 
must  be  borne  away  into  some  philanthropic  enter- 
prise. The  current,  however,  which  carried  us  tow- 
ards “ religious  ” unity  was  too  strong. 

And  then,  at  that  time  there  was  little  scientific 
philanthropy.  The  word  charity  was  more  or  less 
associated  with  patronage  and  pity,  the  very  things 
that  we  wanted  to  avoid;  they  who  were  bent  on 
wiping  out  distinctions  could  not  countenance  these, 
and  it  was  safer  not  to  let  our  hearts  get  the  better 
of  our  reason.  But  even  if  there  had  been  a scien- 
tific treatment  of  humane  questions,  we  were  afraid 
of  the  danger  of  becoming  too  much  absorbed  in 
this  kind  of  work,  and  so  of  losing  sight  of  our  chief 
end. 

At  present  the  idea  of  our  Association  is  pretty 
well  domesticated  in  Christendom.  It  was  not,  after 
all,  entirely  new.  Is In  1845  and  1846  Frederick 
Denison  Maurice,  lecturing  on  the  Boyle  Foundation 
in  London  on  “ The  Religions  of  the  World  and  their 
Relations  to  Christianity,”  attempted  to  do  justice  to 
the  ancient  faiths  of  India,  Persia,  Egypt,  Greece, 


124 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


and  Rome.  In  1882,  in  Edinburgh,  eminent  men 
discussed  the  same  problems  under  the  title  of  “ The 
Faiths  of  the  World.”  In  1871  James  Freeman 
Clarke  published  his  “ Ten  Great  Religions.”  The 
study  of  comparative  religion  has  been  going  on  for 
many  years.  When  Mozoomdar  came  to  this  coun- 
try a few  years  ago,  there  was  such  a rush  for  him 
among  American  orthodox  Christians  that  the  Free 
Religious  Association  could  not  get  at  him  at  all, 
though  it  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  a real  Brahmin  on 
its  platform.  True,  there  were  differences  of  opinion 
among  the  orthodox  students  of  the  old-world  sys- 
tems. Some  regarded  the  ancient  religions  as  effete ; 
some  denied  that  Christianity  touched  them  at  more 
than  one  or  two  points ; some  treated  them  simply 
as  preparations  for  the  crowning  faith  of  Christ. 
Still,  whatever  their  differences,  all  agreed  that  the 
religious  instinct  was  universal ; that  there  was  a 
ground  for  revelation  in  the  human  heart;  since 
Carlyle’s  famous  lecture  in  “ Heroes,”  delivered  in 
1840,  it  was  impossible  to  regard  Mahomet  as  an  im- 
postor, or  to  look  upon  religion  as  a fabrication  of 
the  priests,  as  an  attempt  to  practise  upon  human 
ignorance  and  fear. 

Among  the  Unitarians  our  conception  is  familiar. 
At  the  convention  that  was  held  in  Philadelphia, 
in  October,  1889,  both  parties,  the  most  conservative 
and  the  most  radical,  sat  side  by  side.  A manager 
of  the  Free  Religious  Association  delivered  one  of 
the  addresses,  and  said  : “ I never  believed  one  tithe 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION.  12$ 

as  much  as  I believe  to-night.  Never  did  I have 
such  faith  in  God ; never  did  I so  believe  in  man ; 
never  did  I see  such  a glorious  outlook  for  the 
Church ; never  did  I hold  such  a glad  theory  of  hu- 
man hope  for  the  future.”  The  secretary  of  the 
American  Unitarian  Association  was  full  of  joy. 
The  secretary  of  the  Western  Unitarian  Conference 
quoted  the  opinion  of  the  Western  churches,  assem- 
bled at  Chicago  in  May,  1887,  and  declared  “our 
fellowship  to  be  conditioned  on  no  doctrinal  tests, 
and  welcomes  all  who  wish  to  join  us  to  help  estab- 
lish truth  and  righteousness  and  love  in  the  world.” 
A prominent  leader  of  Unitarianism  in  Illinois 
uttered  himself  thus:  “Whatever  its  traditions, 
whatever  its  present  positions,  or  its  prospects,  this 
spiritual  commonwealth  is  extra-Unitarian,  extra- 
American,  extra-Christian ; it  is  human,  and  on  that 
account  it  is  universal,  and  it  is  divine.”  Another 
speaker  at  this  convention  declared  that  “ the  hand 
that  shall  hold  this  master  key  is  Christ,  as  the 
modern  mind  conceives  him, — Christ  healing  the 
sick,  raising  the  dead,  cleansing  the  leper,  casting 
out  devils  from  society  and  business,  from  politics 
and  religion ; Christ,  the  friend  of  Lazarus  and  of 
Mary  Magdalen ; Christ  robed  in  absolute  justice 
and  also  in  transcendant  love,  and  embracing  the 
whole  world.” 

It  is  not  claimed  that  this  extraordinary  change  in 
ecclesiastical  fellowship  and  sympathy  is  due  to  the 
Free  Religious  Association.  That  was  one  of  the 


126 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


signs  of  the  times,  and  is  an  effect  rather  than  a 
cause  ; but  it  is  a sign  of  the  grander  unity.  When 
the  portrait  of  Theodore  Parker  is  hanging  on  the 
walls  of  Channing  Hall ; when  a cordial  welcome  is 
extended  to  all  seekers  for  the  light ; when  the  East 
and  West  are  ready  to  embrace  in  a fellowship  of 
aspiration ; when  the  young  men  are  all  alight  with 
fresh  hope  and  fresh  endeavor,  we  may  with  confi- 
dence anticipate  the  time  when  there  shall  be  but 
one  fold,  and  the  aim  of  the  Free  Religious  Associa- 
tion be  met. 

The  emancipation  from  denominational  trammels 
was  of  great  service  to  the  young  minister.  It  is 
true  that  he  was  still  in  a “ church  ” which  kept  him 
within  ecclesiastical  associations;  but  these  fetters 
were  not  heavy,  and  they  were  soon  to  be  thrown 
off.  For  in  the  spring  of  1869,  the  church  was  sold 
to  another  congregation.  This  was  done  partly  be- 
cause the  acoustic  properties  of  the  building  were 
not  favorable,  and  partly  because  the  place  was  not 
suited  to  the  genius  of  the  new  society.  “ There 
was  no  room  in  the  inn,”  was  the  subject  of  the  last 
sermon  preached  in  that  building.  Lyric  Hail,  to 
which  we  removed,  is  situated  on  Sixth  Avenue, 
between  40th  and  41st  streets.  It  is  a large  room 
fifty  by  one  hundred  feet.  During  the  week  it  was 
used  as  a dancing  hall,  but  on  Sundays  it  was 
arranged  for  a religious  service.  A small  organ  was 
placed  there,  a platform  was  built,  and  seats  were 
brought  up  from  the  cellar  below.  The  first  sermon 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION. 


127 


preached  there  was  on  “ Secular  Religion,”  and  it 
indicated  the  whole  character  of  the  services.  The 
most  remarkable  thing,  as  regards  myself,  that  hap- 
pened in  Lyric  Hall,  was  the  adoption  of  the  habit 
of  speaking  without  notes.  The  light  from  the 
avenue  was  too  far  off  for  reading,  and  the  speaker 
was  therefore  obliged  to  dispense  with  a manuscript 
altogether.  A theme  was  first  chosen  that  admitted 
of  subdivisions,  so  that  as  fast  as  the  speaker  ex- 
hausted one  he  could  fall  back  on  another.  The 
habit  soon  became  so  familiar  that  no  difficulty  was 
experienced  in  handling  the  most  complicated  sub- 
ject. Here  we  remained  until  the  spring  of  1875, 
when  we  removed  to  Masonic  Temple,  on  Sixth 
Avenue  and  23d  Street. 

This  building,  which  was  very  large  and  hand- 
some, had  just  been  erected  by  the  Masons,  who 
designed  it  for  their  own  accommodation.  The 
structure  having  cost,  however,  more  than  was  an- 
ticipated, the  owners  were  obliged,  reluctantly,  to  let 
the  large  hall,  which  they  did  for  literary  and  re- 
ligious purposes  only.  We  were  the  first  to  occupy 
it.  The  hall  was  spacious  and  stately,  with  fixed 
seats  for  about  a thousand  people.  A fine  organ 
stood  at  one  end  of  the  platform  ; at  the  other  end 
there  was  a large  reception  room.  The  first  sermon 
there  was  on  “Reasonable  Religion.”  The  audience  - 
was  never  large — never  more  than  eight  or  nine 
hundred,  usually  six  or  seven  hundred.  The  form 
of  service  much  resembled  the  form  common  in 


128 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Unitarian  churches,  with  the  exception  that  Mr. 
Conway’s  “ Sacred  Anthology  ” was  substituted  for 
the  Bible,  and  the  other  exercises  were  more  univer- 
sal in  their  character.  It  had  Ions;  ceased  to  be  a 
Unitarian  congregation.  There  were  people  of 
Catholic  training,  many  of  Protestant  training,  some 
of  no  religious  training  whatever,  materialists,  athe- 
ists, secularists,  positivists — always  thinking  people, 
witb  their  minds  uppermost.  It  was  a church  of 
the  unchurched.  George  Ripley,  the  journalist,  was 
always  there ; E.  C.  Stedman,  the  man  of  letters ; 
Calvert  Yaux,  the  architect;  Sanford  R.  Gifford, 
the  painter;  Henry  Peters  Gray,  the  artist,  was 
there  until  he  died ; C.  P.  Cranch,  the  poet,  was 
a member  of  the  Society  as  long  as  he  was  in 
the  city.  In  the  Lyric-Hall  days,  Judge  Geo.  C. 
Barrett  had  a seat  in  the  audience.  The  secular 
character  was  always  prominent.  When  we  had  a 
church  on  40th  Street,  the  lar^e  basement  was  used 
for  music,  dramatic  performances,  readings,  festivi- 
ties, social  gatherings.  In  Lyric  Hall,  these  were 
continued  as  far  as  they  could  be. 

The  “Fraternity  Club”  was  organized  in  1869  by 
a devoted  member  of  the  Society  for  the  entertain- 
ment and  improvement  of  its  members ; and  drew  to- 
gether very  brilliant  minds  both  within  and  without 
the  immediate  fellowship.  The  meetings  were  held 
once  in  two  weeks,  when  an  essay  was  read,  a debate 
carried  on,  and  a paper  presented  ; all  the  performers 
being  nominated  in  advance  by  the  President.  The 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION. 


129 


work  was  mainly  done  by  a few  young  men,  who  have 
since  become  eminent  in  various  fields — as  teachers, 
lawyers,  literary  critics,  publishers, — and  by  witty 
women  not  a few.  There  were  about  seventy  mem- 
bers, each  one  standing  for  some  peculiar  accomplish- 
ment. The  subjects  of  the  essays  were  such  as 
these,  illustrating  the  breadth  of  the  intellectual 
interest : On  “ Taste  on  “ Expressions  on  “ The 
Coming  Man”;  on  “Wordsworth”;  on  “The  Tree 
of  Life  ”;  on  “ Spencer’s  Britomart  as  the  Type  of 
Woman”;  on  “Light  and  Laughter”;  on  “Success- 
ful People  ”;  on  “ Culture  ”;  on  “ The  Cultivation  of 
the  Masses.”  The  subjects  for  debate  were  equally 
varied  : “Ought  the  sexes  to  be  educated  apart?”; 
“ Does  a house  burn  up  or  burn  down  ? ”;  “ Is  the 
highest  musical  culture  compatible  with  the  high- 
est intellectual  development?”;  “Is  there  a distinct- 
ly American  literature  as  contrasted  with  that  of 
England  ? ”;  “ Should  matrimonial  union  be  con- 
tracted early  or  late?”;  “Ought  we  to  cultivate 
most  those  faculties  in  which  we  naturally  excel, 
or  those  in  which  we  are  naturally  deficient?”; 
“ Does  increase  of  culture  involve  decrease  of 
amusement?”;  “Is  the  existence  of  a 4 Mute  inglo- 
rious Milton  ’ jwssible  ? ”;  “ Will  giving  the  fran- 
chise to  women  exert  a beneficial  influence  on 
society  ? ”;  “ Had  you  rather  be  more  stupid  than 
you  seem,  or  seem  more  stupid  than  you  are  ? ” 

The  “ papers,”  of  which  there  are  some  nine  vol- 
umes existing,  were  receptacles,  for  the  fancy,  ima- 
9 


130 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


gination,  sentiment,  and  humor  of  the  editors  or  their 
co-editors  ; there  were  verses,  stories,  criticisms,  jokes, 
illustrations,  in  them ; each  had  its  name : “The  Bub- 
ble,” “ The  Venture,”  “ Bric-a-Brac,”  “ Stuff  ” “ The 
Rag-Bag.”  The  club  ceased  soon  after  the  Society 
disbanded,  in  1880. 

The  root  idea  of  the  Society,  apart  from  its  inde- 
pendence, was  the  mingling  of  the  spiritual  and  the 
natural;  the  domestication  of  faith.  With  a view 
of  making  the  idea  more  prevailing  and  complete,  a 
children’s  service  in  the  afternoon  was  substituted 
for  the  regular  Sunday-school.  A book  was  pre- 
pared, “ The  Child’s  Book  of  Religion,”  by  the 
pastor,  for  this  express  purpose.  There  were  re- 
sponsive readings,  recitations  in  unison,  songs,  and 
an  address,  simple  and  anecdotical,  by  the  minister. 

The  Society  was  never  fashionable,  or  even 
popular.  At  one  period — that  of  the  Richardson- 
McFarland  matter — there  was  a vast  deal  of  misrep- 
resentation, criticism,  and  abuse,  but  all  this  had  no 
effect  on  the  constituency  of  the  parish.  There  was 
the  same  loyalty,  the  same  interest,  the  same  deter- 
mination to  sustain  a thoroughly  liberal  ministry,  by 
which  every  form  of  conviction  was  made  conducive 
to  a purely  spiritual  faith. 

It  was  never  pretended  that  the  Society  was  any- 
thing more  than  a beginning.  A small  and  feeble 
beginning,  but  of  something  that  was  to  grow  and 
spread ; the  beginning  of  a faith  that  is  as  rational 
as  it  is  wide.  Its  influence  was  more  diffusive  than 


THE  FREE  RELIGIOUS  ASSOCIATION.  131 

concrete  as  an  instituted  thing.  It  is  the  pride  and 
consolation  of  those  who  began  it  that  they  removed 
some  of  the  barriers  that  divided  the  great  brother- 
hood of  believing  men. 

My  ministry  in  New  York  ended  in  the  spring  of 
1879.  Its  close  was  due  entirely  to  my  ill-health.  A 
year  before  the  doctors  had  warned  me  not  to  continue 
longer  than  was  necessary  my  rate  of  speed.  They 
urged  me  to  go  slower,  to  “ take  in  sail,”  and  to  with- 
draw as  far  as  I could  from  all  public  demonstra- 
tions. Measures  were  taken  against  every  emergency, 
and  I sailed  away  in  the  French  steamer,  with  the 
hope  that  in  six  months  I might  regain  my  nervous 
power,  and  return.  There  was  first  the  exhilarating 
sea  voyage ; then  the  beautiful  city  hall  of  Bouen, 
the  churches  and  famous  buildings,  the  square  where 
Joan  of  Arc  suffered ; then  came  Paris  with  its  en- 
chantments ; after  that  Basel  showed  its  great  Hol- 
beins, and  its  lovely  promenade  overlooking  the 
river;  this  led  to  the  celebrated  baths  at  Bagatz 
in  Switzerland,  the  placid  waters  of  Pfeifers’,  the 
gorge,  the  hotel  gardens,  and  the  lovely  walks ; after 
this  came  the  pass  of  the  Spliigen,  the  Via  Mala, 
the  hotel  at  the  summit  of  the  pass  among  the  snows, 
the  pastures,  the  wild  goats ; then  came  Lake  Como 
in  Italy,  Bellagio,  the  charming  Villa  Serbeloni,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  two  lakes,  Como  and  Lecco,  the 
vineyards  ripening  in  the  sun,  the  terraces,  looking 
across  upon  the  mountains  ; then  Milan  opened 
its  great  cathedral,  the  gallery  of  the  Brera,  the 


132 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


ancient  church  of  Saint  Ambrose.  Afterwards  came 
Florence  and  its  heavenly  environs,  its  pictures  and 
statues  and  public  buildings,  its  groves  and  stately 
drives  and  lovely  villas ; Florence  was  followed  by 
Siena,  and  there  I saw  the  great  cathedral,  walked 
on  the  esplanade,  enjoyed  the  public  square,  the 
palaces,  the  pictures  of  Sodoma.  From  there  I went 
to  Rome,  in  December. 

It  was  all  in  vain ; I became  satisfied  that  the 
complaint  was  not  of  a temporary  nature,  not  owing 
to  overwork  or  over-excitement,  not  easily  cured — if 
curable  at  all, — but  nervous  and  hereditary.  There- 
upon, I wrote  a letter  to  my  trustees  absolutely  re- 
signing my  office  and  declining  to  be  a clergyman 
any  longer,  as  I could  not  attempt  to  renew  the 
same  kind  of  labor.  An  attempt  was  made  to  secure 
a successor;  several  names  were  mentioned,  and 
among  men  greatly  my  superiors  in  learning  and 
eloquence,  but  none,  it  was  thought,  represented  the 
precise  form  of  speculation,  the  exact  view  of  religion 
which  my  friends  desired.  The  Society  therefore 
was  disbanded,  and  no  attempt  has  been  made  since 
to  reorganize  it.  The  members  were  scattered,  some 
among  other  churches,  some  among  other  cities, 
while  some  never  joined  any  religious  society  what- 
ever. Thus  a thriving  and  growing  organization  is 
now  simply  a memory. 


X. 


THE  PROGRESS  OE  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  AMERICA. 

An  article  in  the  North  American  Iieview  for 
April,  1885,  on  “Free  Thought  in  America,”  is 
chiefly  significant  as  showing  how  gradual  and  ten- 
tative the  progress  of  thought  in  religion  was.  The 
comments  on  individuals  are  often  wide  of  the  mark, 
but  the  general  drift  is  quite  correct.  The  course 
was  shadowy,  but  the  main  point  was  unmistakable. 
At  this  day,  the  wholesale  abuse  of  religion  is  harm- 
less, and  can  exert  no  wide  influence.  The  friends  of 
liberal  thought  are  against  it ; and  those  who  seek 
the  old  grim  conclusion  do  so  in  another  way, 
striving  to  substitute  a new  faith  in  nature  for  the 
old  faith  in  divine  inspiration,  and  to  prove  the 
latter  to  have  been  a growth  rather  than  an  imposi- 
tion. The  study  of  comparative  religions  has  put  a 
new  face  on  the  question,  and  the  concern  is  now  to 
discover  the  source  of  faith  in  the  supernatural  and 
not  to  make  it  appear  a creation  of  priestcraft.  Xo 
sooner  had  serious  investigations  into  antiquity  be- 
come known,  than  the  method  pursued  by  Voltaire 
and  Dupuis  was  abandoned,  and  each  generation 


133 


134 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


since  has  confirmed  the  facts  of  historic  develop- 
ment. 

That  my  own  immediate  predecessors  were  Emer- 
son and  Parker  is  most  true.  With  the  writings  of 
the  former  I was  familiar ; the  latter  was  my  inti- 
mate friend.  Perhaps  my  theological  views  are  due 
to  him  more  than  to  any  other  man,  though  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  generation  were  peculiar,  and 
determined,  in  a much  greater  degree  than  in  my  own 
case  was  possible,  the  cast  of  his  thought.  The  Uni- 
tarian controversy,  in  which  he  played  so  prominent 
a part,  and  by  stress  whereof  he  was  driven  into 
some  of  his  positions,  is  over.  The  anti-slavery 
struggle,  into  which  he  threw  himself  and  as  a result 
of  which  his  religious  antagonisms  were  sharpened, 
was  ended  many  years  ago. 

Poe  said  in  the  preface  to  “ Eureka,”  that  perfect 
beauty  was  a guaranty  of  perfect  truth ; so  I felt — 
felt  rather  than  reasoned — that  a great  character 
was  sufficient  proof  of  the  truth  of  doctrine,  and  I 
accepted  the  teaching  on  the  strength  of  the  noble- 
ness which  was  before  my  eyes.  Later  researches 
confirmed  my  opinions,  but  while  I was  under 
Parker’s  influence,  his  theological  views  were  ac- 
cepted without  much  consideration ; his  unique  style 
of  personality  laying  my  heart  as  it  were  under  a 
spell. 

Emerson  was  a man  of  colder  temperament,  thinner 
of  blood,  more  spare  in  frame ; of  finer  intellectual 
fibre,  of  more  commanding  intellectual  supremacy ; 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


135 


not  a combatant  on  any  field ; a sweet,  gracious, 
shadowy  personality;  calm,  lucid,  imperturbable; 
pursuing  knowledge  along  the  spiritual  path  of 
pure  thought,  although  he  was  also  a student  of 
books ; a regenerator  of  mind  rather  than  a reformer 
of  customs  ; a prophet,  distinguished  for  penetration 
rather  than  for  will.  His  ideas  were  substantially 
the  same  as  Parker’s,  but  he  did  not  arrive  at  them 
in  the  same  way,  or  hold  them  in  the  same  spirit, 
or  apply  them  with  the  same  directness.  He  car- 
ried them  out  further,  not  being  hindered,  as  his 
contemporary  was,  by  the  immediate  necessities  of 
the  hour.  In  short,  he  was  another  sort  of  man 
, entirely.  Both  were  transcendentalists,  but  Parker  . 
shaped  his  philosophy  to  the  working  exigencies  of 
his  generation,  while  Emerson  let  his  stream  freely 
in  the  air.  The  writer  of  the  article  in  question 
accuses  Emerson  of  want  of  pathos,  and  declares 
that  this  was  the  lack  of  the  transcendentalists,  as  a 
school.  But  he  could  hardly  charge  this  on  Parker, 
who  was  an  ardent  transcendentalist,  but  whose 
very  language  was  vascular,  who  affected  multitudes 
of  men  and  women,  and  who  held  audiences  by  the 
heartstrings.  Hid  Hopkins  or  Bellamy  or  Edwards 
melt  people?  Were  the  preachers  of  Calvinism 
priests  of  sorrow  ? This  is  a matter  of  temperament 
and  not  of  creed.  Extreme  rationalists  leave  their 
congregations  in  tears,  and  extreme  churchmen  dis- 
miss theirs  unmoved,  the  humors  of  the  men  decid- 
ing the  issues  of  their  ministrations.  The  closer  to 


136 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  LMPRESSIONS. 


the  ground,  the  more  abundant  the  sympathy.  The 
question  is  whether  one  is  more  mundane  or  more 
ethereal  by  native  gift  and  endowment. 

That  transcendentalism  was  mainly  speculative 
may  be  doubted,  but  if  it  was  so  this  may  be  ac- 
counted an  incidental  circumstance  to  be  explained 
by  the  prevailing  theological  temper  of  the  age,  and 
the  duty  imposed  on  it  of  transferring  the  body  of 
doctrine  to  an  ideal  realm;  a task  which  demands 
an  intellectual  effort  of  no  common  magnitude.  And 
when  with  this  task  was  joined  the  endeavor  to 
sift  out  the  purely  spiritual  ideas  from  the  mass  of 
dogmatical  and  ecclesiastical  error,  it  is  no  wonder 
that  it  should  have  been  speculative  in  its  tendency. 
Certainly,  Brook  Farm  was  concrete  enough,  and 
the  transcendentalists  were,  as  a rule,  interested  in 
social  reconstruction,  though  not  in  a way  to  touch 
popular  emotion.  One  cannot,  even  at  this  distance, 
think  of  the  quickening  radiance  shed  by  the  tran- 
scendentalists over  the  whole  region  of  religious 
belief  and  duty,  without  gratitude.  The  hymns,  the 
sermons,  the  music,  the  Sunday-schools,  the  prayers, 
the  charities,  the  social  ministrations,  breathed  forth 
a fresh  spirit.  If  there  were  fewer  tears  of  woe, 
there  was  more  weeping  for  joy.  There  was  too 
much  gladness  for  crying.  Life  was  made  sunny. 
Human  nature  was  interpreted  cheerfully.  There 
was  an  unlimited  future  for  misery,  ignorance,  turpi- 
tude. Sin  was  remanded  to  the  position  of  cru- 
dity, and  was  banished  from  the  heavenly  courts. 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


13  7 


Violence  was  protested  against  in  laws,  customs, 
manners,  speech.  Harsh  doctrines  were  criticised. 
Austere  views  were  discarded.  Intellectual  barriers 
were  removed.  Spiritual  channels  were  deepened 
and  widened.  Light  was  let  into  dark  places.  The 
brightest  aspects  of  divinity  were  presented.  Im- 
mortality was  rendered  native  to  the  soul.  The  life 
below  was  regarded  as  the  portal  to  the  life  above. 

In  my  own  case,  whatever  of  enthusiasm  I may 
have  had,  whatever  transports  of  feeling,  whatever 
glowr  of  hope  for  mankind,  whatever  ardor  of  antici- 
pation for  the  future,  whatever  exhilaration  of  mind 
towards  God,  whatever  elation  in  the  presence  of 
disbelief  in  the  popular  theology,  may  be  fairly 
ascribed  to  this  form  of  the  ideal  philosophy.  It 
was  like  a revelation  of  glory.  Every  good  thought 
was  encouraged.  Every  noble  impulse  was  height- 
ened. It  was  balm  and  elixir  to  me.  If  transcen- 
dentalism did  not  appear  as  a sun  illuminating 
the  entire  mental  universe  it  was  the  fault  of  my 
exposition  alone.  Absolute  faith  in  that  form  of 
philosophy  grew  weak  and  passed  away  many 
years  since,  and  the  assurance  it  gave  was  shaken ; 
but  the  sunset  flush  continued  a long  time  after 
the  orb  of  day  had  disappeared  and  lighted  up  the 
earth.  Gradually  the  splendor  faded,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  a softer  and  more  tranquil  gleam,  less 
stimulating  but  not  less  beautiful  or  glorious.  The 
world  looks  larger  under  the  light  of  stars.  I always 
loved  Blanco  White’s  magnificent  sonnet  to  Night, 


138  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

but  never  appreciated  its  full  significance  until  the 
scientific  view  had  succeeded  to  the  transcendental, 
and  I began  to  walk  by  knowledge,  steadily  and 
surely,  but  not  buoyantly  any  more.  It  would  be  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  anything  like  pain,  sadness, 
or  sterility  accompanies  the  departure  of  an  old 
faith,  when  a new  one  takes  its  place  and  soon  opens 
fresh  prospects  of  good.  The  universe  but  grows 
larger:  other  methods  are  adopted,  other  hopes  are 
entertained,  other  consolations  are  presented,  and 
soon  the  mind  adjusts  itself  to  the  altered  conditions. 
The  downcast  mood  of  George  Eliot,  of  the  author 
of  “ Physicus,”  and  of  many  another  less  distinguished 
unbeliever,  may  be  due  in  part  to  temperament,  in 
part  to  the  first  feeling  of  chill  that  ensues  upon  a 
transitional  period,  which  brings  in  a different 
climate ; but  the  allegation  of  lasting  coldness,  gloom, 
discontent,  is  wholly  groundless.  The  old  fable 
says  that  quails  drop  from  the  clouds,  that  even  rocks 
quench  the  traveller’s  thirst.  There  is,  in  short,  no 
wilderness. 

That  the  creed  was  “filmy,”  the  foothold  “un- 
steady,” is  altogether  likely,  for  the  ancient  supports 
were  removed,  the  pillars  that  replaced  them  were 
shaking,  and  tradition  alone  remained  to  hold  by. 
But  religion  was  still  the  Poetry  of  Life,  and  kept 
its  place  among  the  interests  singly  represented  by 
art,  music,  literature,  philosophy,  those  fine  intima- 
tions of  a higher  state,  those  splendid  foreshadow- 
ino;s  of  the  future,  those  noble  efforts  to  solve 

O 1 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


139 


problems  that  must  be  forever  insoluble.  My  creed 
did  not  pretend  to  be  final  or  even  definite.  It  was 
simply  a study,  a preliminary  sketch,  an  essay  tow- 
ards truth.  A claim  to  completeness,  to  logical 
consistency,  would  have  been  fatal.  Still  less,  if  pos- 
sible, did  it  pretend  to  meet  popular  wants.  It 
resolutely  turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  took 
up  positions  which,  it  was  understood,  the  general 
public  could  not  occupy  without  abandoning  all  its 
works  and  retiring  to  other  ground.  No  effort  was 
made  to  commend  it  to  common  opinion ; on  the 
contrary,  everything  like  concession  was  shunned, 
and  the  slightest  signal  of  agreement  with  current 
beliefs  was  regarded  as  a warning  against  a compro- 
mise of  principle.  Nothing  was  assumed  except  the  ' 
validity  of  the  human  faculties,  including,  of  course, 
the  higher  reason,  the  insight  of  genius,  and  such 
feelings  as  were  parts  of  the  rational  constitution, 
together  with  perfect  liberty  in  their  exercise.  Every 
theological  system  was  repudiated ; even  the  doc- 
trines of  a conscious  Deity  and  the  individual  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  were  left  open  to  discussion, 
the  atheist  and  the  materialist  being  listened  to  with 
as  much  deference  as  any.  These  doctrines  were 
accepted,  yet  not  on  the  ground  of  authority  or  tra- 
dition, but  simply  considered  as  faiths,  hopes,  senti- 
ments of  the  spiritual  being;  the  existence  of  living 
mind,  coupled  with  the  demand  for  unity,  seeming 
to  guarantee  the  first,  the  fact  of  individual  per- 
sistency appearing  to  demonstrate  the  second.  But 


140 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


all  definition  was  carefully  avoided,  conviction  being 
confined  to  the  main  idea,  and  being  purely  spiritual 
in  its  character,  not  in  the  least  dogmatical,  or  exclu- 
sive of  knowledge.  Of  doctrine  in  the  usual  sense 
there  was  none.  There  was  merely  thought.  The 
very  teaching  was  more  of  the  nature  of  suggestion 
than  of  final  conclusion.  For  this  reason  no  account 
of  the  “credo”  can  be  given,  all  fixed  expressions 
of  views  being  discountenanced  as  premature,  and 
therefore  irrational.  This  should  be  distinctly  un- 
derstood by  those  interested  in  coming  at  the  truth 
on  this  subject.  The  object  was  to  disintegrate,  to 
pulverize,  to  enable  mind  to  float  freely  in  the  air  of 
intellect,  to  the  end  that  it  might  crystallize  about 
natural  centres.  All  dogmatism,  that  of  the  infidel 
as  well  as  that  of  the  believer,  of  the  man  of  science 
as  well  as  of  the  theologian,  of  the  sensualist  as  well 
as  of  the  spiritualist,  was  obnoxious.  There  was  no 
sympathy  with  those  who  regarded  the  case  as 
closed,  either  as  the  anti-Christian  assailant  or  as  the 
apologist  did ; either  with  the  school  of  Paine  or 
with  the  school  of  Calvin.  Hereafter  there  may  be 
articles  of  belief,  at  present  there  can  be  none.  This, 
it  may  be  said,  was  a temporary,  incidental  position, 
quite  indeterminate  and  unsatisfactory.  ISTo  doubt 
it  was.  That  was  all  it  pretended  to  be.  The  sooner 
it  disappeared  and  was  succeeded  by  a more  stable 
one,  so  it  was  reasonable,  the  better,  for  that  would 
indicate  an  advance  in  rational  judgment. 

This  task-Zthe  complete  emancipation  of  the  hu- 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.  141 

man  mind  from  every  form  of  thraldom]— will  occu- 
py liberal  teachers  for  a long  time  to  come.  All 
that  can  be  said  in  defence  of  instituted  religion,  and 
all  that  can  be  urged  on  the  other  side,  had  been  put 
forward  again  and  again,  but  in  a sectarian — that  is, 
in  a partisan — spirit.  Now  an  even  temper  is  demand- 
ed. Unfortunately,  impartiality  is  apt  to  degenerate 
into  indifference.  Breadth  of  view  is,  as  a rule, 
inconsistent  with  rapidity  of  motion.  The  fact  that 
the  Free  Religious  Association  had  a small  constitu- 
ency as  compared  with  many  an  orthodox  society  is 
no  evidence  whatever  that  the  orthodox  society  is 
nearer  the  truth.  The  former  was  broad  enough 
to  admit  all  religions,  the  latter  shut  out  all  save  the 
Christians,  thus  making  them  a special  community 
saved  by  their  belief.  The  problem  is  to  preserve 
and,  if  possible,  deepen  intellectual  enthusiasm  while 
opposing  fanatical  adherence  to  dogmas;  to  associate 
breadth  with  force,  to  unite  freedom  with  earnest- 
ness, and  to  render  the  love  of  truth  more  intense  in 
proportion  as  the  horizon  recedes  and  ideas  multiply. 
Such  ought  to  be  the  result  of  free  thinking,  and 
such  it  is  when  thinking  goes  hand  in  hand  with 
freedom. 

Critical  studies  must  keep  an  even  pace  with  phi- 
losophy, and  both  must  conspire  to  push  back  the 
lines  of  credence  as  far  as  faith  in  the  spiritual  senti- 
ment will  permit.  The  latest  investigations  have 
substantiated  liberal  conclusions  and  carried  them 
into  regions  which  were  inaccessible  to  the  authori- 


142 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


ties  of  an  early  day.  A certain  amount  of  denial 
was  necessary  of  course,  but  this  was  made  in  view 
of  a larger  affirmation  which  had  to  be  brought  for- 
ward, and  was,  moreover,  confined  to  matters  inci- 
dental, not  directed  at  the  substance  of  faith.  The 
assumption  of  a spiritual  nature  in  man  guaranteed 
the  inherent  genuineness  of  all  aspiration. 

No  doubt  the  assumption  of  a creative  religious 
nature  in  man  lent  aid  to  the  endeavor  to  glorify  the 
pagan  faiths,  and  predisposed  the  mind  to  accept 
criticisms  on  Christianity ; but  scientific  investigation 
of  the  world’s  bibles  went  on  quite  independently  of 
this  assumption.  It  was  promoted  by  Catholics  and 
Protestants,  by  Lutherans  and  Unitarians,  by  Ger- 
mans, French,  English,  Americans.  Certainly  the 
alleged  antiquity  of  a system  is  not  in  its  favor ; for 
ignorance,  credulity,  superstition,  are  much  older 
than  this ; older  than  the  ancient  books,  than  the 
ancient  thinkers.  The  oldest  things  are  errors,  delu- 
sions, falsities.  The  allegiance  of  great  miuds  simply 
proves  the  limitations  of  intellect.  Sir  Thomas 
More  believed  in  transubstantiation,  and  Samuel 
Johnson  believed  in  ghosts.  The  wide  reverence  for 
the  Scriptures  is  an  impressive  fact,  until  it  is  seen 
that  no  writings  have  been  so  guarded,  nor  have  such 
pains  been  taken  in  regard  to  any  other  literature  to 
create  for  it  a habit  of  docile  veneration.  Fidelity 
is  praiseworthy,  but  it  is  no  pledge  of  wisdom.  On 
the  contrary  it  draws  attention  to  the  merits  or  de- 
merits of  the  creed  to  which  it  is  consecrated.  Is 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGTOUS  THOUGHT. 


143 


witchcraft  respectable  ? Yet  it  had  its  martyrs.  Is 
demoniacal  possession  credible  ? Yet  sa'nts  attested 
it.  The  fury  of  the  lighter  cannot  vouch  for  the 
worthiness  of  the  cause.  If  it  could,  the  narrowest 
credence  would  be  the  truest  as  the  world  goes,  and 
they  who  adhere  to  the  11  Christian  ” tradition  would 
be  consigned  to  the  darkest  cells  of  it.  The  newest  j 
thing  is  knowledge.  This  never  paralyzes,  and 
never  is  fanatical.  Its  heat  is  stimulating  yet  gra- 
cious. Its  zeal  does  not  scorch  or  consume.  It 
awakens  every  faculty,  keeps  inquiry  on  the  stretch, 
excites  the  noblest  ambition,  and  at  the  same  time 
rebukes  the  partisan  temper  in  all  its  manifestations. 
Its  reign  is  beneficent ; its  coming  is  full  of  hope. 
It  is  ever  looking  forward  with  sanguine  anticipa- 
tion, and  if  it  is  at  times  impatient,  petulant,  or  im- 
perious, it  is  because  it  is  fretted  by  stubborn 
obstacles  that  prevent  the  full  realization  of  its  pur- 
pose to  discover  the  truth.  For  a long  time  to  come 
there  will  be  controversy,  but  its  violence  will  dis- 
appear, its  acrimony  will  gradually  cease,  the  passion 
for  victory  will  yield  to  the  love  of  knowledge,  and 
all  genuine  seekers  will  unite  in  the  search  after  I 
light. 

In  the  last  generation  the  progress  of  intelligent 
examination  into  nature’s  secrets  has  been  exceed- 
ingly rapid.  During  my  active  ministry  I was 
hardly  aware  of  it,  for  though  an  assailant  of  the 
popular  religion,  a champion  of  the  freest  thought,  I 
was  a defender  of  the  current  religious  ideas ; since 


144 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


leaving  the  profession,  the  significance  of  the  mental 
revolution  that  is  taking  place,  has  been  more  fully 
revealed  to  me.  The  advance  has  approached  very 
near  to  the  heart  of  the  citadel.  The  questions 
under  discussion  are  fundamental  ones,  the  existence 
of  a self-conscious  deity,  the  fact  of  personal  con- 
tinuance beyond  the  grave,  the  line  of  distinction 
between  “ material  ” and  “ spiritual  ” things.  The 
dispute  hangs  on  invisible  threads  of  logic.  The 
conservatives  occupy  positions  which  radicals  of 
thirty  years  back  could  not  assume. 

The  next  step  in  the  development  of  free  thought 
must  be  toward  the  realization  of  all  the  ideal 
supports  of  mankind,  the  spiritualizing  of  the  secu- 
lar, the  lifting  into  heavenly  places  of  this  world’s 
activity,  the  transfiguration  of  our  common  life.  If 
by  religion  is  understood  the  striving  after  perfection 
in  intellectual  things  by  the  untrammelled  pursuit  of 
knowledge,  in  social  concerns  by  the  exercise  of 
fraternal  kindness,  in  the  spiritual  world  by  aspira- 
tion towards  a complete  surrender  to  natural  law, 
every  free  thinker  will  encourage  that  and  will  do 
what  he  can  to  promote  it.  That  there  is  no  final 
truth  discoverable  must  be  admitted,  but  such  a 
confession  need  not  trouble  those  who  look  manfully 
forward  to  a future  of  new  discoveries,  and  gird 
themselves  to  remove  all  obstacles  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  world  they  live  in. 

Robert  Browning  in  his  “ Paracelsus,”  published  in 
1835,  anticipates  the  doctrine  of  evolution. 


PROGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


145 


Thus  He  dwells  in  all, 

From  life’s  minute  beginnings,  up  at  last 
To  man — the  consummation  of  this  scheme 
Of  being — the  completion  of  this  sphere 
Of  life  ; whose  attributes  had  here  and  there 
Been  scattered  o’er  the  visible  world  before, 
Asking  to  be  combined. 


In  1836,  Emerson  in  his  “ Nature,”  reiterated  this 
grand  prophecy : 

A subtle  chain  of  countless  rings, 

The  next  unto  the  farthest  brings. 

The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 

And  speaks  all  languages,  the  rose  ; 

And  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 

In  1867,  science  had  gone  so  far  that  it  could 
announce  the  Unity  of  Creation ; the  absolute  Order 
and  Law ; one  continuous  Force  ; Progress  as  the  end 
of  life.  The  eternal  beauty  existed  for  those  who 
had  eyes  to  see.  On  this  foundation  the  human  heart, 
with  its  qualities  of  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love,  its 
sentiments  of  justice  and  equity,  its  hunger  for 
advance,  its  idea  of  goodness,  built  up  a very  noble 
and  benignant  conception  of  deity  and  the  sure  hope 
of  moral  perfection. 

IO 


XI. 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION-. 

It  is  natural  that  the  clerical  profession  should  be 
an  order  by  itself.  Every  other  calling  is — the  law- 
yer’s, the  physician’s,  the  artist’s  and  the  merchant’s. 
There  is  an  absurd  notion  that  the  clerical  profession 
stands  alone  ; that  it  has  a supernatural  origin,  which 
takes  it  out  of  the  circle  of  ordinary  employments ; 
that  it  is  not  to  be  compared  with  other  institutions 
of  society.  But  the  real  dignity  of  the  profession 
consists  in  its  filling  its  place  among  human  arrange- 
ments. A certain  temperament  too,  seems  to  belong 
to  all  employments.  There  is  the  legal  tempera- 
ment, the  artistic,  the  dramatic,  the  mercantile.  It 
is  no  disadvantage  that  one  prefers  solitude,  likes 
abstract  thoughts,  lias  no  taste  for  business  enter- 
prise,  is  fond  of  books  and  study.  Indeed,  this  is  an 
advantage  for  one  whose  office  it  is  to  amass  learn- 

O 

ing,  to  weigh  opinions  in  fine  scales,  to  follow  the 
spiritual  laws,  and  to  peer  into  the  mystery  that 
surrounds  human  life.  The  very  misunderstand- 
ings, illusions,  superstitions  that  gather  around  the 
calling  may  be  recommendations,  inasmuch  as  they 

146 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


1 47 


prevent  tlie  intrusion  of  rude  minds,  and  draw  their 
attention  towards  subjects  they  would  not  otherwise 
be  interested  in. 

A certain  amount  of  positiveness  is  necessary  to 
ensure  the  worth  of  the  profession.  The  Catholic 
priest  has  no  doubt  whatever  of  the  providential 
establishment  of  the  church  in  which  he  is  a servant. 
This  must  be  beyond  question  or  misgiving.  This  is 
taken  for  granted  by  clergy  and  laity.  All  learning 
must  be  made  to  confirm  it,  all  observation  is  com- 
pelled to  favor  it.  The  laws  of  society  must  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  kingdom  of  God ; for  society 
is  to  be  redeemed,  nature  is  to  be  supplanted  by 
grace,  secular  life  must  therefore  be  excluded.  The 
priest,  such  is  the  theory,  dwells  out  of  the  world, 
and  is  encouraged  to  do  so.  He  is  poor,  celibate, 
homeless,  has  no  attachments,  no  affections,  no  ter- 
restrial occupations.  He  must  be  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  dead  to  mortal  affairs.  One  may  find  fault 
with  earthly  institutions  ; one  is  bound  to  find  fault 
with  them,  but  the  church  must  be  beyond  criticism 
and  must  be  accepted  as  a gift  from  heaven. 

The  Protestant  clergyman  holds  fast  by  his  doc- 
trine of  faith  as  by  divine  appointment.  His  chief 
tenets  must  not  be  submitted  to  doubt.  Whatever 
he  may  reject,  there  remains  something  he  is  not 
tempted  to  resign — namely,  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  in  his  creed.  Reason  may  carry  the  outworks 
— ceremonies,  ordinances,  incidental  points  of  belief, — 
but  the  citadel  is  removed  from  assault.  The  world- 


I48  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

spirit  may  hover  around  him,  envious,  expectant, 
watchful,  applauding  his  boldness,  cheering  his 
progress  towards  negations,  glad  to  see  the  gulf 
betwixt  him  and  the  age  gradually  diminishing,  and 
pressing  into  every  vacant  position ; society  may 
claim  interest  in  him  more  and  more  ; but  there  are 
points  he  must  not  yield,  and  which  he  merely 
wishes  to  bring  into  prominence  in  surrendering 
others  which  he  regards  as  secondary.  So  much 
may  be  necessary,  but  religion  must  practically  take 
its  place  among  the  ideal  pursuits  of  men  and  be  ex- 
posed, as  they  are,  to  the  full  examination  of  the 
mind  before  any  fair  account  of  it  can  be  given. 
And  this  cannot  be  so  long  as  a region,  however 
small,  is  shut  off  from  investigation  by  supernatural 
powers. 

Moreover,  it  is  the  common  impression  that  the 
office  of  the  ministry  is  detrimental  to  the  best 
interest  of  humanity,  because  it  establishes  another 
caste  and  thus  destroys  the  unity  that  is'  so  import- 
ant in  the  integrity  of  the  world.  By  it  the  priest 
is  a person  set  apart,  hedged  about  by  the  laws,  held 
in  peculiar  reverence,  habited  in  special  garments. 
Some  kinds  of  entertainments,  such  as  dancing,  the 
drama,  are  commonly  forbidden  to  him.  His  pres- 
ence on  festive  occasions  used  to  be  regarded  as  a 
gracious  intrusion.  He  was  not  expected  to  take 
part  in  gayeties  or  to  have  any  share  in  frivolities, 
which  were  much  more  hilarious  when  he  was  absent 
and  the  restraint  of  his  presence  was  removed.  He 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


I49 


was  thought  to  be  somehow  at  war  with  nature,  and 
his  looking  on  at  merrymaking  was  regarded  by  the 
polite  as  a piece  of  condescension  on  his  part,  an 
evidence  of  unusual  liberality  of  sentiment.  It  was 
but  the  other  day  that  a young  physician,  belonging 
to  a Unitarian  family,  and  himself  an  enthusiastic- 
student  of  science,  praised  a minister  for  excusing 
his  continual  absence  from  church  on  the  ground  of 
his  being  so  well  employed.  This  was  regarded  as 
a long  step  in  the  direction  of  indulgence  towards 
natural  inclination.  Even  among  rationalists,  a 
symptom  of  the  old  idea  appears  in  an  expression  of 
the  face,  the  manner  of  address,  the  walk,  or  the 
general  bearing.  It  is  thought  a great  stretch  of 
charity  if  he  is  kind  to  the  atheist,  the  materialist, 
the  infidel ; and  to  take  in  the  tempted  child  of 
nature,  the  drunkard,  the  victim  of  lust,  avarice,  is 
extreme  good-will,  benevolence  amounting  to  saintli- 
ness. To  abolish  from  it  the  pretension  of  superior- 
ity in  the  form  of  pity,  as  the  high  look  upon  the 
low,  the  good  upon  the  bad,  the  moral  upon  the  im- 
moral, the  virtuous  upon  the  vicious,  is,  it  is  pre- 
sumed, to  overlook  all  recognized  distinctions,  to 
enthrone  nature,  to  accept  instinct  as  a safe  guide, 
to  renounce  religion  altogether  and  reject  the  saying 
that  “ the  Christian  church  is  immortal  because  its 
fundamental  dogma  involves  a doctrine  of  God  in 
nature  so  ample  and  clear  as  to  satisfy  every  pro- 
foundest  want  of  the  heart  and  every  urgent  demand 
of  the  head  towards  God  forever.” 


150  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

There  are  distinctions  enough  among  men  at  any 
rate,  and  to  obliterate  them  as  far  as  possible  is  the 
office  of  true  religion  and  all  real  humanity  ; to  in- 
crease love,  to  multiply  the  bonds  of  fraternity,  to 
bring  mankind  to  a social  equality,  to  annihilate  all 
that  keeps  mortals  apart.  Of  course  the  safety  of 
society  must  be  preserved  by  laws,  customs,  preju- 
dices, but  care  should  be  taken  to  make  these  simply 
protective  in  their  function,  and  in  no  event  should 
it  be  assumed  that  such  distinctions,  however  radical, 
have  any  absolute  value  or  go  beyond  the  limits  of 
this  outward  world.  Save  men,  if  you  can,  from 
intemperance,  violence,  covetousness,  lasciviousness, 
cowardice,  gluttony,  laziness,  from  every  vice  that 
brutalizes  them,  renders  them  objects  of  hate,  fear, 
suspicion,  or  jealousy ; make  their  circumstances 
wholesome,  their  condition  in  life  invigorating,  but 
do  it  in  the  name  of  enlightenment,  do  it  as  members 
of  the  human  brotherhood,  not  as  members  of  a 
divine  organization.  Many  ministers  make  great 
efforts  to  exorcise  this  demon  of  exclusiveness,  but 
the  effort  is  too  severe  for  any  but  the  few,  and  the 
success  of  it  is  of  doubtful  accomplishment. 

The  Christian  minister  is  a representative  of  hu- 
manity, pure  and  simple,  without  recognition  of  its 
division  into  classes.  He  is  neither  rich  nor  poor, 
high  nor  low,  in  society  nor  out  of  it,  elevated  nor 
obscure.  He  is  democratic,  the  friend  of  everybody, 
the  servant  of  all,  on  terms  of  charity  and  sincerity 
with  all  men.  Sectarianism,  with  its  manifold  evils 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION.  I 5 I 

of  violence,  malignity,  hatred,  misrepresentation,  is  a 
standing  evidence  of  the  harm  done  to  society  by  a 
priesthood,  whether  Catholic  or  Protestant,  and  min- 
isters who  have  labored  to  overthrow  its  influence  as 
being  fatal  to  charity  have  been  obliged  to  fight 
against  the  spirit  of  party,  and  to  rely  more  upon 
their  natural  disposition  than  upon  their  professional 
training.  In  this  respect  the  laity  have  been  in  ad- 
vance of  their  so-called  leaders.  The  people  have 
always  been  opposed  to  dogmatical  exclusiveness, 
and  have  welcomed  every  sign  of  generosity  towards 
unbelievers.  They  have  followed  their  instinct  of 
sympathy,  they  have  read  the  New  Testament  by 
the  light  of  their  human  feeling,  and  setting  common- 
sense  against  doctrinal  narrowness,  have  rejoiced  at 
every  victory  gained  over  intolerance.  They  have 
been  friends  of  brotherhood  ; they  have  adopted  the 
cause  of  liberty  ; and  I must  own  with  grief,  the 
foes  they  have  had  to  contend  with  have  been,  in 
too  many  instances,  the  ministers  who  would  not  see 
that  charity  was  before  faith. 

Everybody  must  have  observed  the  unanimity  and 
the  persistency  with  which  ministers  of  all  denomi- 
nations aud  of  all  ages  have  devoted  themselves  to 
the  rich.  In  fact  the  devotion  is  so  conspicuous 
that  it  is  one  of  the  commonplace  criticisms  on  the 
profession.  People  in  general  assume  that  this  kind 
of  adulation,  amounting  often  to  toadyism,  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  clerical  calling,  so  inseparable  from  it 
indeed  that  the  majority  of  men  are  incredulous  as 


152 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


to  any  departure  from  it,  and  look  with,  unfeigned 
admiration,  when  there  are  no  reasons  for  distrust, 
on  the  minister  who  knows  no  distinction  of  persons 
or  conditions,  but  lias  regard  to  intellectual  or  spir- 
itual considerations  alone.  Such  a man  is  viewed  as 
a wonder,  an  exception  to  all  rules,  singularly  consti- 
tuted, either  extraordinarily  humane  or  extraordina- 
rily obtuse,  either  more  or  less  than  a man.  The 
worship  of  wealth  is  so  common  that  some  explana- 
tion of  it  must  be  given.  The  sufferings,  mishaps, 
troubles  of  the  rich  are  reputed  to  be  more  serious 
than  they  are  in  the  ordinary  run  of  cases ; their 
disappointments  are  more  pitiable,  their  crosses 
heavier,  their  losses  severer,  their  sorrow's  a graver 
imputation  on  Providence.  They  are  looked  on  as 
the  favorites  of  heaven,  and  the  cotton-wool  in  which 
they  are  wrapped  is  spoken  of  as  the  provision  that 
is  made  for  them  expressly  by  the  Lord. 

This  may  be  accounted  for  on  grounds  of  material 
convenience.  They  who  have  money  are  of  great 
importance,  and  that  they  should  be  interested  in 
church  affairs  is  of  immense  moment  to  all  con- 
cerned, not  to  the  ministers  alone,  but  to  the  entire 
congregation,  nay,  to  the  whole  community  of  believ- 
ing men.  There  is  always  need  of  money,  to  build 
churches,  pay  officials,  hire  singers,  furnish  orna- 
ments, support  charities,  maintain  organizations  for 
various  ecclesiastical  purposes  ; and  it  is  much  easier 
to  get  this  in  larger  sums  and  with  little  trouble, 
than  to  obtain  it  in  little  driblets,  with  much  pain, 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


153 


great  expenditure  of  time,  and  constant  vexation  of 
spirit.  The  minister,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  is 
chargeable  with  this  concern,  which  obliges  him  to 
visit  frequently  the  wealthier  members  of  his  sect. 
To  this  end  he  must  keep  on  good  terms  with  them, 
must  sit  at  their  tables,  eat  their  dinners,  drink  their 
wine,  praise  their  pictures,  compliment  their  tastes, 
commend  their  performances,  flatter  their  self-esteem, 
admire  their  surroundings,  take  their  side  in  contro- 
versy; aud  all  such  conduct  is  set  down  by  kindly, 
thoughtful  people,  to  the  account  of  prudence  which 
is  more  than  pardonable  in  one  situated  as  he  is. 

This  is  quite  true,  but  it  is  not  the  whole  truth. 
By  implication  already,  the  duty  of  cultivating  the 
rich  as  donors  involves  the  qualities  of  manhood 
to  an  indefinite  extent.  The  line  of  necessary  cour- 
tesy is  not  decisively  drawn  ; cannot  be  drawn  by 
the  rules  of  etiquette.  This  must  be  the  result  of  a 
trained  experience,  of  a delicacy  and  sensitiveness,  of 
a pride  of  selfhood,  of  a loftiness  or  dignity  of 
miud  that  are  hardly  to  be  looked  for  in  any  large 
class  of  human  beings,  however  free  from  special 
temptation  or  particular  seductions  that  may  be. 
The  influence  of  luxury,  ease,  comfort,  elegance,  is 
very  insidious,  so  that  even  an  unusual  zeal  for 
truth,  an  extraordinary  passion  for  excellence,  yields 
to  the  power  of  moral  indifference,  of  intellectual 
superficialness,  which  is  characteristic  of  those  who 
do  not  do  battle  with  circumstances.  It  is  so  much 
easier  to  do  nothing  than  it  is  to  do  something ; it  is 


154 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


so  charming  to  be  deferred  to,  to  be  looked  np  to,  to 
be  flattered,  to  have  one’s  opinion  sought  without 
being  involved  in  discussion,  or  vexed  by  opposi- 
tion, or  confronted  with  scepticism  ; it  is  so  delightful 
to  the  natural  inan  to  sit  in  an  easy  cushioned  chair, 
and  be  treated  with  delicate  courtesy  and  dainty 
refinement  as  an  authority  on  matters  theological, 
philosophical,  literary,  instead  of  being  put  on  the 
defensive  by  keen  questioners  who  submit  awkward 
problems  for  immediate  solution  ; it  is  so  gratifying 
to  one’s  self-esteem  to  be  received  as  a superior 
being,  that  ordinary  human  nature  generally  suc- 
cumbs to  the  temptation  and  finds  ready  excuse  for 
acquiescence  in  the  necessity  of  being  on  good  terms 
with  one’s  wealthier  parishioners,  and  so  securing 
their  all  important  good-will.  In  short,  a fastidious 
kind  of  flunkeyism  is  engendered  that  is  quite  in- 
consistent with  the  spiritual  life.  The  rich  become 
a refuge  as  well  as  a resource,  and  the  inner  man  is 
weakened  Avhile  the  outer  man  is  confirmed.  A 
species  of  lethargy  creeps  over  mind  and  conscience. 
Even  the  moral  purpose  faints  and  languishes,  and 
charity  ceases  to  be  athletic,  as  elegance  of  form  is 
substituted  for  pith  of  resolution.  The  prophet  is 
induced  to  say  smooth  things,  to  announce  easy 
principles,  to  gloze  over  hard  interpretations,  to  keep 
out  of  sight  unwelcomed  truths  ; and  extraordinary 
courage  is  required  of  those  who  would  resist  this 
tendency  to  complaisance.  The  rich  are,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  easily  persuaded  of  the  excel- 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


155 


leuce  of  existing  institutions,  ideas,  observances.  I 
had  been  in  the  pulpit  five  years  before  I saw  Heury 
James’  remarkable  lecture  on  “ Property  as  a Sym- 
bol,” and  learned  for  the  first  time  that  “ Property 
symbolizes  the  perfect  sovereignty  which  man  is 
destined  to  exercise  over  nature”;  that  “Property 
as  an  institution  of  human  society  expresses  or 
grows  out  of  this  instinct  of  sovereignty  in  man. 
While  this  instinct  is  as  yet  misunderstood  or  un- 
recognized by  the  individual,  while  its  full  issues 
are  as  yet  unimagined  by  him,  society  lends  all  her 
force  to  educate  it  under  this  form  of  an  aspiration 
after  property,  or  a desire  to  appropriate  to  one’s  self, 
land,  houses,  money,  precious  stones,  and  whatso- 
ever else  evidences  one’s  power  over  nature.  . . . 

Thus  the  moral  law  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  an 
affirmation  of  the  sacredness  of  private  property.  It 
virtually  asserts  an  individuality  in  man  superior  to 
that  conferred  by  his  nature.  . . . Such  is  the 

temper  of  mind  which  God  begets  in  him,  to  subdue 
the  whole  realm  of  the  outward  and  finite  to  himself, 
to  the  service  of  his  proper  individuality,  and  so 
vindicate  the  truth  of  his  infinite  origin.  . . 

The  sole  ground  of  our  sovereignty  over  nature  is 
inward,  consisting  in  a God-inspired  selfhood,  instinct 
with  infinite  power.” 

It  would  be  comforting  to  believe  that  a felt  con- 
sciousness of  this  infinitude,  however  dim,  animates 
the  attachment  of  the  clergyman  to  the  opulent  of 
any  congregation ; but  I,  for  one,  must  make  the 


1 5*5 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


confession  that  the  fact  of  property  was  taken 
literally,  that  the  ideal,  symbolical  character  of  it 
was  concealed,  that  the  instinct  of  sovereignty  was 
unrecognized  and  unimaginable,  and  that  the  divine 
intent  was  unsought  for,  the  institution  being  held 
quite  sufficient  to  itself  and  needing  no  authentica- 
tion beyond  its  existence.  And  such,  I apprehend, 
is  the  prevailing  view  among  the  clergy,  whose 
worship  of  it  is  not  identical  with  the  adoration  of 
the  Infinite. 

One  cannot  undertake  to  speak  with  knowledge 
cn  a subject  so  complicated  as  this  is  with  private 
motives,  personal  temperaments,  social  circumstances ; 
but,  as  far  as  my  memory  goes,  the  clergy,  as  a class, 
have  been  too  much  engaged  with  matters  ecclesias- 
tical to  be  deeply  interested  in  any  cause  of  reform, 
and  too  timid  to  take  the  initiative  in  any  matter 
involving  disagreeable  relations  with  controlling 
powers. 

While  towards  the  rich  the  attitude  of  the  clergy 
is  one  of  allegiance,  towards  the  poor  it  has  been 
one  of  patronage.  This  is  a danger.  “ The  poor  ye 
have  always  with  you,  and  whenever  ye  will  ye  can 
do  them  good,”  expresses  their  doctrine  of  charity. 
As  if  the  poor  were  created  in  order  that  others 
might  exercise  beneficence ; as  if  poverty  was  a 
providential  institution,  maintained  in  the  interest 
of  religion  ! It  is  hard  in  a so-called  “ Christian ' 
community  to  get  away  from  this  view.  The  modern 
scientific  theory  and  the  “ Christian  ” theory  are  thus 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSIOX. 


15  7 


at  war ; the  former  being  intent  on  the  well-being 
of  society,  the  latter  having  in  mind  the  cultivation 
of  the  individual  in  tenderness  of  sympathy;  the 
former  educating  intelligence,  the  latter  educating 
feeling.  Still  there  was  charity. 

The  Catholic  Church,  to  say  nothing  here  of  any 
ecclesiastical  purpose  in  keeping  masses  of  men  and 
women  out  of  the  world,  gathered  those  who  could 
not  help  themselves  into  great  buildings  and  took 
care  of  them.  In  the  Protestant  Church  the  care  of 
the  poor  has  been  held  to  be  a religious  duty,  and  a 
large  part  of  the  efforts  of  Christian  ministers  is 
directed  to  the  fostering  of  pity  and  generosity  in 
the  hearts  of  the  wealthy.  To  give  to  those  who 
had  nothing  was  reckoned  the  chief  of  graces,  and 
“charity” — interpreted  as  love  for  those  in  want — 
was  placed  above  “faith”  and  “hope,”  even  when 
money  alone  was  given.  Not  long  ago  a Unitarian 
minister  exhorted  his  congregation  to  set  apart  for 
the  uses  of  the  poor  one  tenth  part  of  their  annual 
income,  and  doubtless  he  had  the  consciences  of 
nearly  all  his  hearers  with  him,  for  the  monstrous 
proposition  has  been  so  often  asserted  as  to  seem  by 
this  time  a commonplace.  Probably  no  man  living 
does  that  or  ever  did,  and  the  practice  of  it  on  a 
large  scale  would  pauperize  the  community.  Think 
of  it ! Five  thousand  dollars  a year  is  not  a great 
income,  yet  if  every  one  who  had  as  much  bestowed 
a tenth  part  of  it  on  charitable  objects  what  a fund 
for  human  demoralization  would  be  raised ! And 


I5S 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


when  the  income  is  ten  thousand,  fifteen  thousand, 
twenty  thousand,  the  amount  of  imbecility  created 
would  be  indescribable;  inertia  would  be  frightfully 
increased,  and  multitudes  would  sit  with  folded 
hands  who  otherwise  would  have  lifted  them  to  do 
some  honest  work.  A moral  lethargy  would  fall  on 
the  toiling  masses  ; wealth-producing  labor  would 
shrink  to  narrower  and  narrower  limits,  and  a 
paralysis  of  energy  would  steal  over  the  wall  of 
those  whose  need  of  resolution  is  the  sorest.  Wealth 
would  consequently  decrease,  and  the  number  of  the 
givers  get  smaller  and  smaller  until  accumulation, 
which  is  the  life  of  the  modern  world  as  distinguished 
from  the  ancient,  would  be  blighted.  The  industrial 
classes  would  be  reduced  to  servitude,  enormous 
fortunes  would  be  gathered  by  fraud,  speculation, 
cruelty,  and  progressive  society  would  relapse  into 
sterility.  Fortunately  the  minister  could  not  per- 
suade people  to  adopt  this  fatal  policy.  Fortunately, 
in  this  particular,  niggardliness  went  hand  in  hand 
with  common-sense. 

That  the  churches,  under  the  lead  of  the  ministers, 
have  done  a vast  deal  in  the  direction  of  charity,  so 
far  from  being  denied  or  disputed,  is  cordially 
allowed  and  even  maintained.  Indeed,  this  has  been 
their  chief  function,  and  they  have  discharged  it 
with  immense  zeal  and  astonishing  results. 

But  that  it  was  an  “ ideal  ” profession  is,  as  I said, 
a recommendation  to  the  ministry.  It  is  a broad 
foundation  for  spiritual-mindedness,  for  unworldli- 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


159 


ness.  True,  the  habit  of  dealing  with  abstract  topics, 
of  liolding  commerce  with  purely  speculative  themes, 
of  entertaining  mere  theories  which  cannot  be  veri- 
fied, of  going  back  to  what  are  called  “ first  princi- 
ples,” imparts  a curiously  vague,  dreamy,  impersonal, 
impalpable  character  to  the  minister’s  intellect,  ren- 
dering it  unfit  to  treat  concrete  questions  of  life  or 
morals  ; for  this  reason  he  is  not  often  successful  as 
a man  of  business,  a practical  politician,  a manager 
of  affairs,  his  cast  of  mind  disqualifying  him  for 
close  consideration  of  details. 

The  duty  of  answering  unanswerable  questions, 
too,  of  solving  problems  that  are  insoluble,  of  reply- 
ing positively  to  what,  from  the  nature  of  things,  he 
cannot  know,  gives  him  a kind  of  ingenuity  which 
is  not  genuine  insight,  but  consists  in  subtle  turnings, 
windings,  in  making  fine  distinctions  and  splitting 
hairs,  and  inventing  ingenious  interpretations,  rather 
than  in  keen  insight  or  straightforward  analysis.  He 
must  seek  ways  of  escape  from  his  pursuers,  and, 
when  no  other  offers,  hide  in  the  thicket  of  mystery 
or  run  up  the  tree  of  faith.  He  must,  if  possible, 
have  an  explanation  ready,  and,  if  he  has  none,  he 
must  fall  back  on  authority,  and  be  impressive, 
addressing  the  sentiment  of  awe  which  is  usually 
alive  in  every  bosom,  or,  in  the  last  resold,  assev- 
erating the  truth  of  revelation,  and  thus  silencing 
the  debate  he  cannot  continue.  If  neither  conscience 
is  satisfied,  his  own  or  his  interlocutor’s,  there  is  no 
remedy  save  in  submission.  He  makes  no  attempt 


160  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

to  clear  up  Lis  conceptions,  or,  if  Le  does,  ends 
at  last  in  vacuity  or  discontent.  His  neighbor, 
unconvinced,  concludes  that  this  is  a clerical  subter- 
fuge, and  so  far  loses  confidence  in  a profession  he 
cannot  understand.  Probably  lie  does  not  do  it 
justice,  but  the  effect  is  the  same, — a rooted  depreci- 
ation such  as  would  not  be  felt  towards  a layman 
who  simply  said  that  he  had  no  answer. 

The  minister,  also,  is  generally  committed  to  a 
conception  of  the  universe  as  a product  of  the 
Supreme  Will  which  makes  him  an  apologist.  He 
is,  after  a fashion,  in  the  secret  of  God.  He  is 
supposed  to  deliver  messages  and  to  utter  oracles. 
His  is  the  wisdom  of  the  Eternal.  His  is  the  Bible. 
His  are  the  testimonies.  He  must  follow  the  ways 
of  the  Spirit  and  defend  the  divine  economy  in  the 
constitution  of  the  world.  But  in  each  case,  every 
allowance  being  made  for  indefiuiteness,  for  large- 
ness of  statement  and  broadness  of  exposition,  the 
minister  must  be  a champion  of  the  Infinite  Wisdom 
and  Goodness,  pledged  to  maintain  it  against  all 
opponents ; and  however  cordially  he  may  choose 
that  part,  the  consciousness  of  being  bound  may  act 
as  a fretting  annoyance,  not  to  say  a galling  restraint. 

A singular  dogmatism  often  accompanies  this 
claim  to  speak  in  the  name  of  the  Almighty ; the 
minister  must  enunciate  truths,  not  deliver  opinions. 
An  authoritative  tone  gets  into  his  voice,  pervades 
his  manner,  affects  his  whole  expression  of  face, 
is  conveyed  by  his  gait  and  walk,  so  that  he  is 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION.  l6l 

known  at  once  from  afar.  Men  hush  their  voices 
in  his  presence,  ventilate  thoughts  not  natural  to 
them,  conceal  their  actual  sentiments,  from  a feeling 
that  he  is  to  be  deferred  to,  not  argued  with  like 
another  man.  The  tone  of  the  pulpit  animates  his 
conversation  and  works  into  the  very  structure  of 
his  thought.  He  is  always  a preacher.  The  atmos- 
phere of  Sunday  hangs  about  him.  He  carries  the 
New  Testament  into  the  parlor;  unconsciously  to 
himself  he  uses  the  language  of  authority,  and  finds 
to  his  mortification  that  he  is  angered  by  dispute. 

The  duty  of  administering  consolation  to  the 
afflicted  adds  to  this  visionary  frame  of  mind.  Fre- 
quent intercourse  with  the  suffering,  sad,  and  be- 
reaved, intimate  commerce  with  sick-beds  and  graves, 
besides  creating  ghostly  dispositions,  deepens  his 
cast  of  thought.  To  comfort  people  under  disap- 
pointments, to  smooth  the  rugged  path,  to  quiet  the 
perturbed  heart,  is  a business  to  discharge  which  all 
the  resources  of  faith  are  called  into  requisition,  and 
any  means  that  will  accomplish  the  end  in  view  are 
considered  as  justifiable.  In  the  effort  to  find  com- 
fortable things  to  say,  the  temptation  to  say  pleasant 
things,  easy  things,  amiable  things,  to  present  the 
kindly  aspect  of  Providence,  and  to  indulge  happy 
fancies  in  regard  to  human  allotments  and  destiny, 
is  exceedingly  strong  ; so  that  one  may  come  at  last 
to  believe  himself  what  gives  so  much  contentment 
to  others  in  the  severe  crises  of  existence.  The  lov- 
ing heart  is  in  perilous  proximity  to  the  thinking 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


162 

head.  All  the  sweetest  feelings  of  our  nature,  the 
wish  to  console  people,  to  make  them  patient,  trust- 
ing, resigned,  cheerful,  are  brought  in  to  reinforce 
the  faith  in  a benignant  purpose  on  the  part  of  the 
Creator,  and  an  unquestioning  disposition  is  encour- 
aged in  the  spiritual  physician  as  well  as  in  the 
stricken  patient. 

Mr.  Henry  James  says  (“Substance  and  Shadow,” 
p.  214):  “Protestant  men  and  women,  those  who 
have  any  official  or  social  consequence  in  the  church, 
are  apt  to  exhibit  a high-flown  religious  pride,  a 
spiritual  flatulence  and  sourness  of  stomach  which 
you  do  not  find  under  the  Catholic  administration.” 
This  is  strong;  lang;uag;e,  but  not  too  strong;  consider- 
iug  the  author’s  abhorrence  of  exclusiveness,  separa- 
tion, Pharisaism,  and  his  identification  of  this  with 
official  religion. 

If  humility  is  the  base  of  all  the  virtues,  as  it  is 
commonly  reported,  then  a profession  that  directly 
favors  pride  is  not  productive  of  the  highest  type  of 
character.  And  if  love, — kindness,  brotherhood,  fel- 
lowship,— is  the  fulfilment  of  the  law,  then  a calling 
that  puts  desire  in  conflict  with  duty  is  not  condu- 
cive to  unity  or  peace,  whether  in  the  private  mind 
or  in  the  collective  household.  Character,  as  natu- 
rally interpreted,  consists  of  an  innate  superiority  to 
one’s  fellow-men  in  the  qualities  that  glorify  human- 
ity, purity,  heavenly-mindedness,  patience,  earnest- 
ness, truthfulness,  sincerity.  Character,  as  spiritually 
interpreted,  consists  of  the  cordial  affiliation  with 


THE  CLERICAL  PROFESSION. 


i63 


one’s  fellow-men  in  the  qualities  that  unite  the  atoms 
of  humanity  in  love,  compassion,  humility,  forgive- 
ness, sympathy.  But  the  higher  view  has  not  pre- 
vailed in  my  experience;  let  me  repeat,  in  the  most 
emphatic  language  at  my  command,  my  conviction 
that  ministers  as  a body  do  not  succumb  to  the  temp- 
tations thus  apparently  incident  to  their  profession. 

It  is  commonly  supposed  that  the  intellectual  part 
of  the  minister’s  labor — the  making  of  the  sermons 
— is  most  severe.  It  is  imagined  that  the  task  of 
addressing  the  same  audience  every  Sunday  must  be 
exceedingly  arduous.  This  is  a mistake.  There  is 
a facility  of  work  in  every  profession.  The  mind 
becomes  accustomed  to  running  in  certain  grooves, 
to  going  through  the  same  process  of  thinking,  to 
applying  the  same  rules  to  many  details  of  practice. 
The  longer  one’s  continuance  in  the  ministry,  the 
eas  er  this  becomes.  Experience  accumulates.  Themes 
multiply.  Novel  suggestions  occur.  New  thoughts 
arise.  Fresh  books  are  written.  Singular  questions 
are  proposed.  Problems  present  fresh  aspects.  The 
old  interests  remain  in  all  their  force.  Men  never 
tire  hearing  about  God,  Immortality,  Destiny.  In 
truth,  the  intellectual  difficulties  become  less  and  less 
appalling  until  at  last  they  disappear.  The  real 
effort  is  to  keep  alive  the  feelings  of  humanity ; to 
overcome  the  inclination  towards  separation  into 
classes ; to  avoid  distinguishing  between  persons ; to 
keep  love  glowing;  to  maintain  the  supremacy  of 
soul ; to  identify  spirituality  with  custom.  The 


164  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

preaching  is  subordinate  not  to  the  private  practice 
alone,  but  to  the  religious  attitude  towards  mankind, 
which  is  conditioned  on  charity  and  the  recognition 
of  human  worth  and  sonship.  The  most  beautiful 
trait  in  the  pastor  is  his  universality,  his  simple,  un- 
affected manhood. 

But  enough  of  criticism.  It  is  a privilege  to  be- 
long to  a profession  occupied  with  things  ethereal  ; 
to  be  interested  in  the  grandest  themes ; to  hold 
intercourse  with  the  loftiest  minds ; to  live  aloof 
from  the  world  ; to  put  the  happiest  constructions  on 
the  events  of  human  life ; to  interpret  Providence 
beneficently.  And  it  is  my  firm  persuasion  that  in 
proportion  as  the  profession  throws  off  the  thraldom 
of  ecclesiasticism  and  dogmatism,  it  increases  in 
power  and  is  sure  to  recover  its  ancient  superiority. 


XII. 


MY  TEACHERS. 

Among  Englishmen,  I owe  the  most  to  James 
Martineau,  at  the  time  of  my  ordination  (1847),  a 
Unitarian  clergyman  in  Liverpool.  His  lectures  in 
the  Unitarian  controversy  (1839)  on  “Christianity 
without  Priest  and  without  Ritual,”  on  “ The  Chris- 
tian View  of  Moral  Evil,”  on  “ The  Bible  : What  It 
Is  and  What  It  is  Not”;  his  articles  on  “Distinctive 
Types  of  Christianity,”  on  “ Creeds  and  Heresies  of 
Early  Christianity,”  on  “ The  Ethics  of  Christendom,” 
on  “ The  Creed  of  Christendom,”  on  “ St.  Paul  and 
His  Modern  Students,”  made  a profound  impression 
on  my  mind.  One  passage  in  particular,  at  the  close 
of  the  essay  on  “ The  Ethics  of  Christendom,”  still 
lingers  in  my  memory  : 

The  old  antagonism  between  the  world  that  now  is  and  any 
other  that  has  been  or  is  to  come,  has  been  modified,  or  has 
entirely  ceased.  . . . Here  is  the  spot,  now  is  the  time  for 

the  most  devoted  service  of  God.  No  strains  of  heaven  will 
wake  man  into  prayer,  if  the  common  music  of  humanity  stirs 
him  not.  The  saintly  company  of  spirits  will  throng  around 
him  in  vain  if  he  finds  no  angels  of  duty  and  affection  in  his 
children,  neighbors,  and  friends.  If  no  heavenly  voices  wan- 

165 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


1 66 

der  around  him  in  the  present,  the  future  will  be  but  the  dumb 
change  of  the  shadow  on  the  dial.  In  short,  higher  stages  of 
existence  are  not  the  refuge  of  this,  but  the  complement  to  it  ; 
and  it  is  the  proper  wisdom  of  the  affections  not  to  escape  the 
one  in  order  to  seek  the  other,  but  to  flow  forth  in  purifying 
copiousness  on  both. 

Martineau’s  intellectual  fidelity,  accurate  learning, 
earnestness  of  feeling,  were  exceedingly  fascinating. 

In  tliis  country  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  the 
great  teacher.  He  gave  an  atmosphere  rather  than 
a dogma.  He  was  air  and  light.  He  is  best  de- 
scribed, not  as  a philosopher,  a man  of  letters,  a 
poet,  but  as  a seer.  His  gift  was  that  of  insight. 
This  he  tried  to  render  comprehensive,  searching, 
intelligent,  accurate,  by  reading,  study,  meditation, 
the  acquaintance  of  distinguished  men  ; but  he  was 
never  beguiled  into  thinking  that  learning,  eloquence, 
wit,  constituted  his  peculiarity.  He  had  a penetrat- 
ing, eager,  questioning  look.  His  head  was  thrust 
out  as  if  in  quest  of  knowledge.  His  gaze  was 
steady  and  intense.  His  speech  was  laconic  and  to 
the  purpose.  His  direct  manner  suggested  a wish 
for  closer  acquaintance  with  the  mind.  His  very 
courtesy,  which  was  invariable  and  exquisite  in  its 
way,  had  an  air  of  inquiry  about  it.  There  was  no 
varnish,  no  studied  grace  of  motion  or  demeanor,  no 
manifest  desire  to  please,  but  a kind  of  wistfulness 
as  of  one  who  took  you  at  your  best  and  wanted  to 
draw  it  out.  He  accosted  the  soul,  and  with  the 
winning  persuasiveness  which  befits  friendliness  on 


MY  TEACHERS. 


167 


human  terms.  There  was  a certain  shyness  which 
indicated  the  modesty  which  is  born  of  the  spirit. 

But  a commanding  doer  he  certainly  was  not ; 
that  is,  he  was  no  man  of  expedients,  of  practical 
resources,  of  merely  executive  will.  He  appreciated 
this  kind  of  ability,  as  his  lecture  on  Napoleon 
shows,  but  he  possessed  little  of  it,  his  Yankee  in- 
genuity being  more  confined  in  its  range.  The  moral 
courage  belonged  to  him,  the  earnestness,  the  faith, 
but  his  ethereal  qualities  lacked  driving  force.  His 
principles  made  him  interested  in  every  movement 
of  reform,  for  he  had  a boundless  hope  which  led 
him  sometimes  into  extravagant  anticipations  of 
truth  and  benefit.  Every  sign  of  life,  intellectual, 
moral,  spiritual,  caught  his  eye,  and  so  long  as  it 
promised  new  developments  of  power  his  eager  sym- 
pathy went  with  it,  but  when  the  creative  period 
ceased  he  turned  away.  He  early  enlisted  in  the 
anti-slavery  cause,  not  because  he  had  entire  confi- 
dence in  the  negro,  or  specially  liked  the  abolition- 
ists, but  because  he  demanded  the  utmost  liberty  for 
all  men  in  order  that  substantial  advantages  might 
be  widely  shared ; but  he  was  not  prominent  among 
the  workers  of  that  reform.  His  name  stood  fore- 
most in  the  list  of  those  who  claimed  the  emancipa- 
tion of  woman  from  social  or  political  disability,  not 
that  he  was  a worker  in  the  woman’s-rights  phalanx, 
not  that  he  looked  for  any  immediate  benefit  from 
that  agitation,  or  felt  any  particular  interest  in  the 
leaders  or  in  the  success  of  that  individual  crusade, 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


1 68 

but  that  he  was  in  favor  of  the  largest  opportunity 
for  all  human  beings,  and  wished  every  particle  of 
power  to  be  used.  From  the  first  he  welcomed  the 
Free  Religious  Association  as  giving  promise  of 
original  light,  greater  breadth,  fresh  vigor,  new 
revelations  of  knowledge  in  that  most  ideal,  but  most 
deplorably  limited,  of  all  spheres ; but  when  in  his 
view  that  promise  was  unfulfilled,  though  his  name 
still  stood  with  those  of  its  vice-presidents,  he  ceased 
to  take  any  part  in  its  proceedings  or  to  feel  any 
personal  concern  in  its  affairs.  There  was  something 
theoretical,  speculative,  in  his  attitude  as  a reformer. 
His  philosophy  pledged  him  to  the  utmost  individ- 
ualism, and  this  called  for  the  utmost  liberty,  that 
each  mmht  receive  all  he  could  of  the  divine  fulness 

O 

and  be  as  much  as  his  nature  required.  Hence  his  own 
limited  expectation  ; hence  his  enthusiasm  in  behalf  of 
individuals  like  Walt  Whitman,  John  Brown,  Henry 
Thoreau  ; hence  the  light  that  came  into  his  eyes 
when  he  sat  in  some  reform  convention  where  high 
thoughts  were  spoken.  His  word  was  given,  and  it 
was  always  inspiring,  emancipating,  uplifting,  heard 
in  the  valleys  from  the  dizziest  heights  of  vision  ; 
but  force  was  not  his  to  give.  Such  words  were 
more  than  “ half  battles,”  to  be  sure,  so  invigorating 
were  they  to  all  the  champions  of  good  causes,  but 
they  were  words  still,  and  seemed  to  proceed  from 
some  upper  region  of  impersonal  mind.  They  ex- 
pressed convictions,  feelings,  desires,  but  there  was 
lack  of  blood  in  them.  They  seemed  made  of  air ; 


MY  TEACHERS. 


169 


there  was  soul  behind  them,  but  not  as  much  body 
as  many  wished.  In  a word,  all  the  ideal  elements 
were  present.  He  was  a man  who  believed,  felt, 
hoped,  had  vast  resources  of  faith,  but  was  a thinker 
more  than  an  actor.  Thinking  is  indeed  doing,  yet 
not  in  the  same  sphere  of  achievement. 

Emerson  recognized  the  limitations  of  genius. 
“ Life  is  a scale  of  degrees,”  he  says  in  the  lecture  on 
the  “ Uses  of  Great  Men.” 

Between  rank  and  rank  of  our  great  men  are  wide  intervals. 
Mankind  have  in  all  ages  attached  themselves  to  a few  persons 
who,  either  by  the  quality  of  that  idea  they  embodied,  or  by 
the  largeness  of  their  reception,  were  entitled  to  the  position  of 
leaders  and  lawgivers.  . . . With  each  new  mind  a new 

secret  of  nature  transpires  ; nor  can  the  Bible  be  closed  until 
the  last  great  man  is  born.  . . . We  cloy  of  the  honey  of 

each  peculiar  greatness.  Every  hero  becomes  a bore  at  last. 
. . . We  balance  one  man  with  his  opposite,  and  the  health 

of  the  state  depends  on  the  see-saw. 

Emerson  looks  forward  to  tbe  time  when  all  souls 
shall  lie  open  to  the  heavenly  influx,  aud  he  regards 
greatness  as  an  earnest  of  that  possibility.  What 
disappointments  he  must  have  felt  as  he  was  forced 
to  turn  away  from  people  who  should  have  been 
saints  and  heroes,  but  were  none  ! What  bitter 
moments  he  must  have  known  when  he  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  welcome  a goddess  and  embraced 
only  a cloud  ! But  his  expectations  continued  eager ; 
no  feature  betrayed  evidence  that  these  practical 
refutations  of  his  theory  had  effect  on  his  heart. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


170 

Whether  Emerson’s  constant  belief  in  the  Over- 
sold, his  stubborn  theism,  his  persuasion  of  an  imma- 
nent God,  was  an  advantage  or  a disadvantage  to  his 
philosophical  view  of  the  universe  may  be  doubted. 
On  the  one  hand,  we  cannot  question  the  fact  that 
he  owed  to  it  his  enthusiastic  faith  in  the  substantial 
unity  of  creation,  his  optimism,  his . assurance  of 
future  progress,  his  confidence  in  man,  his  moral 
earnestness,  his  elevation  of  soul,  his  buoyancy  of 
spirit,  his  forwardness  in  all  endeavors  after  reform. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  can  hardly  be  denied  that  it 
led  him  to  take  some  things  for  granted,  diverted  his 
mind  from  the  unprejudiced  observation  of  phe- 
nomena, prevented  his  rendering  full  justice  to  the 
scientific  method,  was  the  cause  of  wide  aberrations 
in  his  estimates  of  human  character,  and  of  a curious 
onesidedness  in  his  judgments  on  human  condition. 

Emerson  was  always  profoundly  religious,  at 
heart  a supernaturalist.  The  blood  of  centuries  of 
pious  ancestors  was  in  his  veins.  His  soul  was 
uppermost,  not  his  intellect  nor  his  heart.  He  was 
a closet  man,  a minister  at  the  altar.  True,  he 
rejected  every  form  of  the  religious  sentiment,  and 
moved  with  entire  freedom  among  dogmas  however 
expressed  in  word  or  in  rite.  Every  attempt  at 
giving  voice  to  spiritual  emotion  was  disagreeable 
to  him. 


I like  a church  ; I like  a cowl  ; 

I like  a prophet  of  the  soul ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 


MY  TEACHERS. 


171 


Fall  like  sweet  strains  or  pensive  smiles  ; 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see 
Would  I that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Theology  had  fallen  from  him  like  a shroud.  He 
would  not  venture  any  definition  of  the  spiritual 
laws.  Doctrine  had  become  faith ; prayer  was 
changed  into  aspiration  ; the  speechless  utterance 
wTas  the  only  one  he  cordially  listened  to.  But  faith 
he  held  fast ; aspiration  he  cherished ; the  inarticu- 
late language  of  the  eternal  was  ever  in  his  ears. 

Ever  and  anon  would  come  a burst  of  conviction. 
“ Oh,  my  brothers,  God  exists ! ” he  cries  in  an 
ecstasy  of  emotion.  /Some  years  ago  Emerson  seemed 
fascinated  by  the  inductive  method,  so  that  some  of 
his  admirers  thought  he  would  become  a convert  to 
physical  science.  But  the  bent  of  his  nature  asserted 
itself,  and  he  pursued  the  deductive  system  as  before. 
His  passion  for  “ First  Truths,”  as  they  were  called, 
was  irresistible.  vHe  could  not  abandon  the  philoso- 
j)hy  of  intuition,  and  all  his  studies — comprehensive, 
profound,  and  original  as  they  were, — his  insatiable 
thirst  for  knowledge,  his  inordinate  appetite  for 
details  of  fact,  incidents,  anecdotes,  gleanings  from 
literature  of  every  kind,  were  subservient  to  this. 

Emerson’s  serenity  is  often  spoken  of  as  evidence 
of  the  power  of  his  religious  faith.  It  may  allow 
of  this  construction,  but  it  may  be  accounted  for  on 
other  and  different  grounds  which  lie  nearer  at 
hand  and  proceed  immediately  from  more  obvious 
sources.  How  far  may  a long  ancestral  experience 


172 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


in  devout  meditations,  practices,  longings,  worked 
into  the  system  and  producing  a sedate,  calm,  interior 
temperament,  go  in  explaining  that  almost  imper- 
turbable tranquillity  ? The  piety  of  his  forefathers 
was  so  genuine  that  it  drove  him  from  the  church 
of  his  adoption,  and  rendered  another  calling  sacred. 
Their  descendant  exhibited  the  same  saintliness 
which  they  possessed  but  in  a different  fashion. 
And  he  was  probably  saintlier  than  they  were, 
because  he  was  their  child.  His  brothers  had  the 
same  characteristic  of  equanimity  by  virtue  of  the 
same  parentage.  His  brother  William,  whom  I 
knew  intimately  in  New  York,  showed  in  his  daily 
life  a similar  dignity,  and  tradition  reports  the  same 
of  Charles.  It  was  the  perfect  fruitage  of  centuries 
of  heavenly-minded  men,  not  the  peculiarity  of  an 
individual  soul. 

This  predisposition  to  inwardness  was  favored  by 
the  long  seclusion  of  Concord,  which  kept  Emerson 
aloof  from  the  world  and  prevented  the  friction 
which  is  so  damaging  to  serenity.  He  saw  those 
only  who  respected,  loved,  honored,  and  revered 
him.  He  came  into  collision  with  none.  Men  of 
thought,  unambitious  men,  students,  farmers,  were 
his  fellow-townsmen.  Several  hours  in  each  day  he 
was  alone  with  his  books  or  his  mind.  When  he 
visited  the  city  it  was  for  an  intellectual  or  social 
purpose,  as  one  who  had  dropped  from  a star  and 
was  soon  to  vanish.  His  contact  was  with  men  of 
letters,  clergymen,  publishers,  friends,  gentlemen 


MY  TEACHERS. 


1 73 


interested  in  mental  pursuits  who  had  left  their 
business  in  order  to  disport  themselves  in  the  fields 
of  thought.  These  added  to  his  stores  of  wisdom, 
and  sent  him  home  replenished  rather  than  drained. 
The  gains  of  his  day  were  not  dissipated  either  by 
business  occupation  or  pleasure. 

Then,  whether  from  disposition  or  philosophy  we 
cannot  tell,  this  man  avoided  everything  dark,  evil, 
unwholesome,  unpleasant.  Sickness  of  all  kinds, 
complaint,  depression,  melancholy,  was  an  abomina- 
tion to  him.  He  turned  away  from  ugly  sights  and 
sounds,  thus  evading  conflict.  He  never  argued, 
never  discussed,  but  said  his  word  as  wrell  as  he 
could,  and  encouraged  others  to  say  theirs,  in  this 
wTay  hoping  to  get  at  the  truth.  By  this  course  he 
escaped  the  usual  provocations  to  ill-temper,  and 
was  foi'ced  upon  an  undisturbed  equipoise  of  mind. 
Nothing  helps  serenity  so  much  as  avoidance  of 
contest,  and  when  one  can  thoroughly  convince  him- 
self that  there  is  no  rooted  evil  in  the  world  to  be 
fought  against,  an  even  condition  of  soul  is  not  hard 
to  maintain ; optimism  is  proverbially  cheerful,  but 
an  optimism  that  is  grounded  in  principle  must  be 
unconquerable  by  any  force  that  circumstances  can 
bring  against  it. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Emerson  was  not  a 
man  of  warm  temperament,  not  tropical  in  color  or 
in  heat ; more  like  the  morning,  cool  and  breezy,  than 
like  the  sultry  noon-day,  or  the  glowing  evening; 
more  like  the  dewy  spring,  than  the  effulgent  sum- 


174 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


mer  or  the  fruit-bearing  autumn ; not  a child  of  the 
sun,  rather  suggesting  the  still,  white,  imaginative 
moonlight.  There  was  an  air  of  remoteness  about 
him.  His  remark  to  the  inn-keeper, — “ heat  me  red- 
hot,”  tells  the  story.  Simple  habits  kept  his  frame 
wiry,  and  a New  England  nurture  saved  his  mind 
from  luxuriant  uncleanness.  By  nature  he  was  pas- 
sionless. The  beautiful  “ Threnody  ” on  the  death 
of  his  boy,  reveals  the  sorrow  of  a soaring  mind 
rather  than  the  grief  of  a crushed  heart.  To  com- 
mand one’s  self  enough  for  such  an  effort  evinces  a 
rare  power  of  rising  above  mortal  conditions.  Such 
a constitution  finds  solitude  congenial  and  is  calm  by 
force  of  inclination.  Friendship  seems  an  emotion 
better  suited  than  love  to  that  ethereal  soul,  which 
was  always  radiant  but  seldom  burning,  benignant, 
seldom  craving,  always  gracious  in  imparting,  seldom 
hungry  for  receiving.  One  might  walk  in  his  illu- 
mination, but  one  could  hardly  bask  in  his  heat,  or 
lie  on  his  bosom,  or  nestle  near  his  heart.  They 
that  knew  him  at  home  may  speak  more  warmly  of 
him,  but  thus  he  appeared  to  people  outside  ; thus  he 
appeared  to  many  who  had  admired  him  as  I did 
and  tried  to  get  close  to  him. 

The  love  of  wild,  uutrimmed  nature,  the  want  of 
interest  in  cultivated  gardens,  was  part  of  his  theory 
of  the  universe  as  the  expression  of  God  ; the  richer, 
che  less  it  was  interfered  with.  He  would  approach 
as  near  to  the  Creator  as  possible,  listening  for  the 
divine  voice,  which  was  most  clearly  heard  in  the 


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175 


wilderness.  To  the  same  source  must  be  ascribed 
his  partiality  for  wild,  untrained  men, — foresters, 
hunters,  pioneers,  trappers,  back-woodsmen.  He 
sought  everywhere  after  originality,  freshness,  power, 
in  individuals  and  in  groups.  He  hailed  a genius, 
however  rough.  Unconventionality  excited  his  en- 
thusiasm to  such  a degree  that  he  could  scarcely 
contain  himself,  but  said  the  most  extravagant  things 
in  the  ecstasy  of  his  hope.  Men  of  polished  outside 
he  did  not  care  for ; mechanical  men,  however  suc- 
cessful, politicians,  however  popular  and  adroit,  were 
his  aversion.  Accomplishments,  however  great,  schol- 
arship however  finished,  he  did  not  respect.  He 
wanted  the  rough,  uncut  gem.  Genius  of  whatever 
description,  in  whatever  class,  whatever  its  order  or 
grade,  was  his  joy.  In  him  the  love  of  truth  pre- 
dominated. He  submitted  to  the  inconvenience  of 
imperfect  opinion,  but  respected  the  highest  law  of 
his  being.  He  believed  in  the  eternal  laws  of  mind, 
in  the  self-existence  of  right,  in  purity,  veracity, 
goodness.  He  was  one  of  the  most  honest  of  men, 
one  of  the  cleanest,  and  he  did  his  utmost  to  bring 
his  life  into  correspondence  with  his  best  thought. 
That  all  created  things  must  be  imperfect  was  part 
of  his  creed  ; that  this  imperfection  ran  through 
human  character  he  was  as  much  convinced  as  any 
man ; and  his  efforts  were  unceasing  to  turn  men’s 
eyes  towards  the  beauty  “ ancient  but  ever  new,” 
which  he  in  his  moments  of  insight  beheld.  No  one 
lives  up  to  his  most  exalted  faith.  No  one  ever  en- 


176 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


deavored  to  do  so  more  sincerely  and  humbly  than 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

In  my  early  ministry,  the  discourses  of  Dr.  Orville 
Dewey  on  “ Human  Nature,”  “ Human  Life,”  “ The 
Nature  of  Religion,”  seemed  all-sufficing.  I read  them 
over  and  over  acrain  with  increasing  admiration,  and 
his  solutions  of  spiritual  problems  were  accepted  as 
final. 

Miss  Mary  Dewey,  in  the  admirable  memoir  of  her 
father,  lays  great  stress  on  his  affectionate  qualities. 
These  cannot  be  too  emphatically  asserted  ; yet  they 
probably  had  more  scope  than  even  she  suspected. 
Indeed,  unless  I am  much  mistaken,  they  formed  the 
basis  of  his  character.  He  was  a most  deep-feeling 
man.  He  loved  his  friends  in  and  out  of  the  profes- 
sion, with  a loyal,  hearty,  obliging,  warm,  and  even 
tender  emotion,  expressing  itself  in  word  and  deed. 
It  was  overflowing,  not  in  any  sentimental  manner, 
but  in  a manly,  sincere  way.  He  was  a man  of  infi- 
nite good-will,  of  a quite  boundless  kindness.  His 
voice,  his  expression  of  face,  his  smile,  the  grasp  of 
his  hand, — all  gave  sign  of  it.  He  felt  things  keenly  ; 
his  sensibilities  were  most  acute  ; even  his  thoughts 
were  suffused  with  emotion.  He  could  not  discuss 
speculative  themes  as  if  they  were  cold  or  dry. 
Nothing  was  arid  to  his  mind.  In  prayer  it  was  not 
unusual  for  his  audience  to  discern  tears  rolling 
down  his  cheeks.  One  day,  in  his  study,  on  speak- 
ing about  the  intellectual  implications  of  the  “Phi- 
losophic Positive,”  he  dropped  his  head  and  seemed 


MY  TEACHERS. 


1 77 


for  a moment  lost  in  reverie  largely  made  up  of 
devotion.  In  him,  heart  was  uppermost ; intellect, 
conscience,  were  of  subordinate  value  when  taken 
alone ; in  fact,  they  were  incomplete  by  themselves, 
and  wanted  their  proper  substauce.  He  said  once 
that  his  skin  was  so  delicate  that  the  least  soil  on  his 
hands  was  felt  all  through  his  system  and  prevented 
him  from  working.  This  excessive  sensibility,  which 
could  not  be  understood  by  the  world  at  large,  was 
at  the  bottom  of  his  likes  and  dislikes,  of  his  per- 
sonal fears  and  hopes.  Excitement  drained  off  his 
strength.  He  exhausted  himself  physically,  and  fell 
into  ill-health  by  exertions  that  would  not  have 
taxed  an  ordinary  constitution.  It  cost  him  a great 
deal  to  write  sermons,  to  visit  the  sick  or  sorrowing, 
to  conduct  public  services.  At  the  same  time,  he 
was  disqualified,  by  a certain  want  of  steel  in  his 
blood,  for  any  but  the  clerical  profession,  where 
qualities  like  his  are  of  inestimable  value,  and  of  the 
rarest  kind.  He  was  a minister  from  the  beginning, 
always  profoundly  interested  in  questions  of  the  in- 
terior life,  and  though  he  early  left  the  orthodox 
communion  and  became  a preacher  of  Unitarian 
Christianity,  making  it  his  work  to  apply  religious 
ideas  to  all  the  concerns  of  the  natural  world  and 
the  secular  life,  he  retained  all  the  fervor  of  spirit 
that  charaterized  the  most  devout  believer.  A vein 
of  passionate  feeling  ran  through  all  his  discourses, 
and  while  his  themes  were  taken  from  daily  ex- 
istence, his  thoughts  were  fixed  on  eternity.  He 


i73 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


was  absorbed  in  the  destiny  of  the  human  soul,  of 
the  individual  soul,  bringing  all  discussions  to  that 
point,  and  trying  to  make  lasting  impressions  on  the 
spiritual  natures  of  men  and  women. 

When  I first  knew  him  he  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a self-indulgent  man.  This  was  a great 
mistake.  His  way  of  life  was  exceedingly  simple, 
and  his  habits  were  almost  abstemious.  In  fact, 
neither  his  physical  nor  his  mental  constitution  al- 
lowed of  any  indulgence  in  eating  or  drinking.  Still 
the  impression  was  a natural  one,  for  a certain 
amount  of  ease,  exemption  from  care,  gayety,  was 
necessary  to  him.  The  society  of  elegant,  accom- 
plished people  was  indispensable  to  his  recreation 
and  rest.  His  motive  for  seeking  such  was  not  the 
love  of  luxury  so  much  as  a demand  for  recreation 
and  a craving  for  repose.  He  was  not,  in  any  sense, 
an  earthy  man  or  one  who  loved  sensual  delights. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  always  mindful  of  his  call- 
ing, always  intent  on  high  subjects,  always  ready  to 
lead  intercourse  upwards,  always,  to  the  extent  of 
his  power,  interested  in  the  moral  aspect  of  current 
discussions;  over-anxious,  if  anything,  to  approach 
speculative  themes.  He  possessed  an  eager,  unrest- 
ing, questioning  mind.  He  was  always  thinking, 
and  on  great  subjects  of  theology  or  philosophy,  and 
he  put  into  them  an  amount  of  feeling  that  is  extra- 
ordinary with  intellectual  men. 

That  he  should  have  been  so  sensitive  as  he  was  to 
the  words  and  suspicions  of  anti-slavery  men  who 


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179 


charged  him  with  being  an  advocate  of  a fugitive- 
slave  law,  an  apologist  for  slavery,  a ready  tool  of  the 
inhuman,  reactionary  party  of  the  country,  is  not 
surprising.  His  dread  of  pain,  his  hatred  of  false- 
hood, his  horror  of  injustice,  his  love  of  fair  play, 
will  sufficiently  account  for  this ; while  the  impos- 
sibility of  explaining  himself  kept  the  wound  open. 
That  for  thirty  years  the  sore  should  have  bled, 
shows  the  delicacy  of  his  temperament  and  the 
shrinking  nature  of  his  will.  To  speak  of  him  as 
a friend  of  slavery  is  absurd.  No  one  can  read  his 
sermon  on  “The  Slavery  Question,”  preached  shortly 
after  the  annexation  of  Texas  and  at  a moment  of 
great  excitement  at  the  North  in  regard  to  the 
advances  of  the  slave-power,  and  not  perceive  that 
he  was  deeply  moved. 

“Are  these  people  men?”  he  said;  “that  is  the 
question.  If  they  are  men,  it  will  not  do  to  make 
them  instruments  for  mere  convenience, — for  the 
mere  tillage  of  the  soil ; — if  they  are  men , it  is 
not  enough  to  say  that  they  have  a sort  of  animal 
freedom  from  care,  and  joyance  of  spirits.  If  they 
are  men , they  are  to  be  cultivated ; their  faculties 
are  to  be  regarded  as  precious ; they  are  to  be  im- 
proved. . . . If  he  is  a man,  then  he  is  not  only 

improvable  and  ought  to  be  improved,  but  he  will 
improve  in  spite  of  all  we  can  do.”  And  a great 
deal  more  to  the  same  effect.  He  indignantly  pro- 
tested against  treating  “ an  intelligent  creature,  a 
fellow-being,  a brother-man,  a being  capable  of  in- 


i8o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


definite  expansion  and  immortal  progress,”  as  one 
would  treat  a tree,  a flower,  an  ox,  or  a horse. 
“ Grant  that  the  African  of  the  present  generation 
cannot  be  raised  to  our  stature  ; j7et  if  in  the  course 
of  ages  he  may  be,  and  if  it  is  our  policy  system- 
atically to  arrest  or  to  retard  his  growth,  does  the 
case  materially  differ  fi-om  what  1 have  supposed  ? ” 
Namely  that  of  a child.  Dr.  Dewey  visited  slave- 
States  and  talked  with  slave-holders  in  order  to  make 
himself  fully  acquainted  with  the  condition  of  opin- 
ion and  of  feeling  about  the  case,  and  he  took  occa- 
sion everywhere  to  argue  the  Northern  side.  This 
ought  to  be  enough  in  the  way  of  vindication  of  his 
personal  sentiments. 

At  the  same  time,  he  was  a Unionist  of  the 
Webster  school.  His  attachment  to  the  Union  was 
intense.  Disunion  in  his  judgment  meant  ceaseless 
discord,  the  end  of  republican  institutions,  the  arrest 
of  civilization,  the  indefinite  postponement  of  prog- 
ress, the  hopelessness  of  education  and  uplifting  for 
the  slave,  the  withdrawal  of  Northern  influence,  the 
final  overthrow  of  government  by  moral  powers.  A 
long  reign  of  anarchy,  in  the  course  of  which  the 
lovers  of  the  race  must  see  their  visions  of  good  dis- 
appear, would  supervene,  and  this  he  could  not 
contemplate  with  equanimity. 

Then  he  was  an  old-fashioned  enemy  of  war, 
especially  of  civil  war.  He  was  a sincere  lover 
of  peace,  and  a believer  in  the  arts  of  peace,  in 
industry,  education,  the  diffusion  of  intelligence,  the 


MY  TEACHERS. 


1 8 1 

weaving  of  the  ties  of  fraternity ; and  though  he 
acknowledged  the  heroic  mission  of  strife,  he  re- 
coiled instinctively  from  it.  War,  in  his  estimation, 
was  an  inevitable  necessity  in  the  order  of  the  world, 
but  it  was  an  awful  element  in  the  “ world  problem  ” ; 
“ a fearful  scourge,”  a condition  to  be  outgrown 
along  with  vice,  passion,  injustice,  selfishness,  am- 
bition, a sign  that  is  destined  to  disappear  as  intelli- 
gence and  Christianity  come  in.  It  must  be  submitted 
to  as  an  ordination  of  Providence,*  but  it  should 
never  be  precipitated  by  men,  least  of  all  should  it 
be  brought  on  hastily,  by  unreasonableness,  malig- 
nity, or  hate.  The  evils  of  war  were  precisely  such 
as  appealed  most  directly  to  his  imagination ; they 
were  so  personal,  they  were  so  domestic,  they  were 
so  pitiable,  they  were  so  full  of  tears.  He  shrank 
from  violence,  from  rage,  from  party  ambition,  from 
curses  and  cries.  He  loved  his  countrymen,  and,  so 
long  as  any  reason  remained,  he  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  fighting.  So  long  as  any  oil  was  left  in  the 
can,  the  troubled  waters  were  not  to  be  abandoned 
by  the  peace-makers.  It  was  much  for  him  to  have 
patience  with  those  who  used  angry  words,  even  in 
a cause  of  righteousness.  He,  for  his  part,  could 
not  scold  or  overstate,  or  do  anything  in  a harsh 
temper. 

Dr.  Dewey  believed  in  colonization ; not  neces- 
sarily in  Africa,  but  in  a separation  between  the 
white  and  black  races,  in  the  civilization  of  the 
negro.  In  the  tenth  lecture  of  the  course  on  “ The 


1 82 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Problem  of  Human  Destiny”  (1864),  lie  takes 
occasion  to  welcome  “ the  great  hope  ” that  thus 
was  opened  “for  purging  our  American  soil  from 
the  stain  of  slavery.  Many  of  us  have  long  been 
asking  how  this  is  to  be  done.  Look  at  Africa, 
surrounded  by  a wall  of  darkness,  and  filled  with 
cruelty  and  blood,  with  no  civilizing  influence  in 
herself,  as  the  story  of  ages  has  proved  ; what  now 
do  we  see  ? Britain  sends  to  her  borders  the  man- 
stealer,  to  tear  her  children  from  her  bosom  and 
transport  them  to  the  American  colonies.  It  was  a 
deed  of  unmingled  atrocity,  compared  with  ivhich 
capture  in  war  was  generous  and  honorable ; the 
African  King  of  Dahomey  grows  white  by  the  side 
of  the  Saxon  slave-trader.  But  what  follows  ? The 
African  people  in  this  country  improve,  and  are 
now  far  advanced  beyond  their  kindred  at  home. 
And  now  they  begin  to  return  ; they  are  building  a 
state  on  their  native  borders  which  promises  to  stop 
the  slave  trade  with  Africa  and  to  spread  light  and 
civilization  through  her  dark  solitudes.”  At  the 
close  of  his  discourse  on  the  slavery  question,  he 
said  : 

If  I were  to  propose  a plan  to  meet  the  duties  and  perils  of 
this  tremendous  emergency  that  presses  upon  us,  I would  en- 
gage the  whole  power  of  this  nation,  the  willing  co-operation 
of  the  North  and  the  South,  if  it  were  possible,  to  prepare  this 
people  for  freedom  ; and  then  I would  give  them  a country 
beyond  the  mountains, — say  the  Californias, — where  they 
might  be  a nation  by  themselves.  Ah  ! if  the  millions  upon 
millions  spent  upon  a Mexican  war  could  be  devoted  to  this 


MY  TEACHERS. 


183 


purpose, — if  all  the  energies  of  this  country  could  be  employed 
for  such  an  end, — what  a noble  spectacle  were  it  for  all  the 
world  to  behold,  of  help  and  redemption  to  an  enslaved 
people  ! What  a purifying  and  ennobling  ministration  for 
ourselves  ! 

The  intimacy  with  Dr.  Channing  re-inforced  the 
conclusions  which  were  native  to  Dr.  Dewey’s  tem- 
perament. The  moderate  view,  the  dread  of  over- 
statement, the  fear  of  fanaticism,  the  faith  in  reason, 
the  love  of  tranquillity,  the  desire  after  truth,  were 
rooted  in  his  mind.  His  constitutional  conservatism 
was  confirmed.  Then  he  was  a Unitarian,  and  there- 
fore rational  in  his  methods,  inclined  to  judge  by 
arguments,  to  sift  opinions  by  the  understanding. 
The  abolitionists  were,  for  the  most  part,  either  Cal- 
vinists or  transcendentalists,  people  who  followed  an 
inward  voice,  who  placed  interior  conviction  before 
ratiocination,  and  encouraged  moral  sentiment  to 
take  the  lead  in  action,  blowing  coals  into  a flame, 
and  not  content  unless  they  saw  a blaze.  The  Uni- 
tarians, as  a class,  were  not  ardent  disciples  of  any 
moral  cause,  and  took  pride  in  being  reasoners, 
believers  in  education,  and  in  general  social 
influence,  in  the  progress  of  knowledge,  and  the 
uplifting  of  humanity  by  means  of  ideas.  The 
habit  of  discountenancing  passion  may  have  been 
fostered  in  a school  like  this.  Perhaps  if  young 
Dewey  had  continued  in  his  old  belief  he  would 
have  been  a more  vehement  reformer  than  he  was. 
His  natural  glow  was  softened  down  into  a mild 


184 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


effulgence,  communicating  warmth  to  his  convictions, 
but  not  producing  a burning  zeal  for  any  substance 
of  doctrine. 

His  power  of  emotion  made  him  a powerful 
preacher  but  prevented  his  being  a great  philosopher. 
Dr.  Bellows,  who  was  his  close  friend  for  many  years, 
described  him  as  a man  of  “ massive  intellectual 
power,”  and  then  went  on  to  impute  to  him  the  gifts 
that  belong  to  the  pulpit  orator : “ poetic  imagina- 
tion,” a “rare  dramatic  faculty  of  representation.” 
Perhaps  by  “ massive  ” Dr.  Bellows  meant  the  power 
to  throw  thoughts  in  a mass,  with  cumulative  effect. 
This  power  Dr.  Dewey  certainly  possessed  in  an 
extraordinary  degree.  But  of  philosophical  talent 
he  had  little.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  conscious  of 
this  himself.  At  the  end  of  his  first  lecture  before 
the  Lowell  Institute  he  said  : 

I am  not  sorry  that  the  place  and  occasion  require  me  to 
make  this  a popular  theme.  I am  not  to  speak  for  philosophers, 
but  for  the  people.  I wish  to  meet  the  questions  which  arise 
in  all  minds  that  have  awaked  to  any  degree  of  reflection 
upon  their  nature  and  being,  and  upon  the  collective  being  ot 
their  race.  I have  hoped  that  I should  escape  the  charge  of 
presumption  by  the  humbleness  of  my  attempt — the  attempt, 
that  is  to  say,  to  popularize  a theme  which  has  hitherto  been 
the  domain  of  scholars. 

The  lecture  assumes  the  existence  of  a Personal 
God,  the  reality  of  a conscious  soul,  the  freedom  of 
the  human  will,  the  fact  of  a moral  purpose  in  crea- 
tion, the  perfectibility  of  man,  the  idea  of  progress, 


1,1  Y TEACHERS. 


185 

the  evidence  of  design  in  the  universe  attesting  a 
divine  intelligence.  The  treatment  nowhere  shows 
metaphysical  acumen  or  speculative  insight.  O11 
every  page  is  brilliancy,  eloquence,  skilful  manipu- 
lation of  arguments,  fervent  appeal  to  conscience. 
Nowhere  is  subtilty  or  depth  of  intuition.  Take  for 
example  the  discourse  on  “The Problem  of  Evil,”  the 
most  intellectually  exacting  of  all  subjects.  It  ends 
thus  after  a series  of  pictures : 

Give  me  freedom,  give  me  knowledge,  give  me  breadth  of 
experience  ; I would  have  it  all.  No  memory  is  so  hallowed, 
no  memory  is  so  dear,  as  that  of  temptation  nobly  withstood, 
or  of  suffering  nobly  endured.  What  is  it  that  we  gather  and 
garner  up  from  the  solemn  story  of  the  world,  like  its  struggles, 
its  sorrows,  its  martyrdoms  ? Come  to  the  great  battle,  thou 
wrestling,  glorious,  marred  nature ! strong  nature  ! weak 
nature  ! Come  to  the  great  battle,  and  in  this  mortal  strife 
strike  for  immortal  victory  ! The  highest  Son  of  God,  the  best 
beloved  of  Heaven  that  ever  stood  upon  earth,  was  “ made 
perfect  through  suffering.”  And  sweeter  shall  be  the  cup  of 
immortal  joy,  for  that  it  once  was  dashed  with  bitter  drops  of 
pain  and  sorrow  ; and  brighter  shall  roll  the  everlasting  ages, 
for  the  dark  shadows  that  clouded  the  birth-time  of  our  being. 

This  is  not  argument,  but  preaching — very  fine, 
stimulating,  powerful  preaching,  but  preaching  never- 
theless ; quite  different  from  James  Martineau’s  treat- 
ment of  the  same  theme,  in  the  course  of  the  Liver- 
pool lectures  (delivered  in  1839).  Mr.  Martineau,  too, 
addressed  a popular  assembly,  and  closed  his  dis- 
course in  a strain  of  exhortation.  Still,  the  grave 
tone  of  the  previous  discussion  sobered  the  rhetoric, 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


1 86 

and  the  background  of  the  ancient  debate  made  the 

O 

moral  lessons  solemn.  Philosophy  yielded  to  the 
necessities  of  ethics,  much  as  the  “ Kritik  der  Keinen 
Yernunft  ” gave  place  to  the  “ Kritik  der  Practischen 
Yernunft”  of  Kant — the  preacher  and  the  reasoner 
standing  indeed  on  different  ground,  but  the  moral 
instruction  being  tempered  by  the  philosophical. 

Orville  Dewey  was  a great  preacher,  perhaps  the 
greatest  that  the  Unitarian  communion  has  produced ; 
greater  as  a preacher  than  Dr.  Chanuing,  because 
more  various  and  more  sympathetic,  nearer  to  the 
popular  heart,  less  inspired  by  grand  ideas,  and  for 
that  reason  more  moving.  He  was  imbued  with 
Channing’s  fundamental  thought — the  “ Dignity  of 
Human  Nature,” — and  illustrated  it  with  a wealth 
of  imagination,  enforced  it  by  an  urgency  of  appeal, 
quickened  it  by  an  affluence  of  dramatic  representa- 
tion all  his  own.  His  function  was  to  apply  this 
doctrine  to  every  incident  of  life,  to  politics,  business, 
art,  literature,  society,  amusement,  and  he  did  this 
with  a boldness,  a freedom,  a frankness  unusual  at 
any  time,  but  without  example  when  he  was  in  the 
ministry.  I shall  never  forget,  in  one  of  his  sermons, 
an  allusion  to  a symphony  of  Beethoven  which  gave 
me  a new  conception  of  the  essential  humanity  of 
the  pulpit’s  office,  of  the  close  association  that  there 
was  between  religion  and  art.  His  conversational 
style,  impassioned  but  not  stilted  and  never  turgid, 
was  exceedingly  impressive,  while  his  constant  em- 
ployment of  the  forms  of  reasoning  added  weight  to 


MY  TEACHERS. 


1 8 7 

his  sentences.  The  discourse  was  plain,  and  yet 
from  its  copiousness  it  was  ornate  ; and  the  affec- 
tionate tone  assumed  an  air  of  grave  remonstrance 
which  was  deepened  in  effect  by  the  appearance  of 
formal  logic.  The  hearer  seemed  to  be  admitted  to 
the  secrets  of  a living,  earnest  mind,  and  to  be  listen- 
ing to  something  more  than  the  usual  enunciations 
of  ethical  principle.  At  the  same  time  his  own  will 
was  consulted,  he  was  taken  into  partnership  with 
the  orator  and  introduced  to  the  processes  of  con- 
viction. His  state  of  feeling  was  considered,  his 
objections  were  met,  his  scruples  answered,  his  argu- 
ments confronted.  He  was,  in  short,  treated  like  a 
rational  being,  to  be  reasoned  with,  not  to  be  looked 
down  upon. 

Dr.  Dewey  was  always  a friend  of  liberal  thought. 
There  are  no  more  significant  pages  in  his  daughter’s 
memoir  of  him  than  those  which  contain  his  corre- 
spondence with  Mr.  Chadwick,  one  of  the  most  radi- 
cal of  Unitarian  divines.  He  was  himself  a student 
of  divinity  at  Andover,  early  converted  to  Unitarian- 
ism,  became  an  assistant  and  warm  friend  of  Dr. 
Channing,  but  instead  of  remaining  stationary  in 
dogmatic  faith,  took  a rational  view  of  all  religious 
cpiestions,  favored  the  largest  liberality,  and  wel- 
comed every  effort  to  adapt  spiritual  ideas  to  actual 
knowledge.  He  had  no  dogmatic  prepossessions, 
and  no  professional  fears.  What  he  asked  for  was 
sincerity  coupled  with  earnestness.  This  being  given, 
conclusions,  within  certain  limits,  of  course,  were  of 


1 88 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


little  moment.  Theodore  Parker  used  to  sadden  and 
irritate  liim,  but  less  on  account  of  his  opinions  than 
on  account  of  his  pugnacious  manner  in  expressing 
them.  Parker  rather  despised  him  for  what  he  re- 
garded as  his  time-serving  disposition,  and  could  not 
understand  his  mental  delicacy;  but  men  who 
thought  as  Parker  did  were  even  then  on  the  best 
terms  with  Dr.  Dewey,  whose  mellowness,  on  the 
whole,  increased  instead  of  diminishing  with  age, 
and  was  greatest  in  his  declining  years. 

He  was  a man  fond  of  personalities  ; even  in  his 
addresses  on  the  greatest  themes,  he  would  if  j^ossi- 
ble  narrow  the  subject  down  to  the  measure  of 
individual  application.  Thus  when  lecturing  on 
“The  Problem  of  Evil,”  after  submitting  various 
considerations,  he  adds  : 

Broad  and  vast  and  immense  as  that  problem  may  appear, 
it  is  after  all,  in  actual  experience,  purely  individual.  . . . 
The  truth  is,  nobody  has  experienced  more  of  it  than  you  or  I 
have,  or  might  have,  experienced.  With  regard  to  all  the 
intrinsic  difficulties  of  the  case,  it  is  as  if  one  life  had  been 
lived  in  the  world  ; and  since  no  man  has  lived  another’s  life, 
or  any  life  but  his  own,  there  has  been  to  actual  individual 
consciousness  but  orie  life  of  thirty,  seventy,  or  a hundred 
years  lived  on  earth.  The  problem  really  comes  within  that 
compass.  ...  If  I can  solve  the  problem  of  existence  for 
myself,  I have  solved  it  for  everybody  ; I have  solved  it  for 
the  human  race.  . . . Do  you  and  I find  anything  in  this  our 
life  that  makes  us  prize  it,  anything  that  makes  us  feel  that 
we  had  rather  have  it  than  have  it  not  ? Doubtless  we  do  and 
other  men  do  ; all  men  do. 

This  passage  illustrates  well  the  tendency  to  per- 


MY  TEACHERS. 


189 

sonal  reference  that  distinguished  the  man.  In  a 
discourse  on  war  delivered  before  the  Peace  Society 
he  resolves  its  miseries  into  those  of  the  individual, 
as  if  mass — affecting,  as  it  does,  nations,  civilizations, 
humanity  itself — counted  for  nothing.  This  ten- 
dency explains  Ids  fondness  for  his  friends,  his 
strength  of  sympathy,  his  tenacity  of  attachment, 
his  love  for  people.  It  does  not  betoken  a broad, 
deep,  philosophic  mind,  but  it  does  betoken  a warm, 
clinging,  affectionate  nature. 

It  made  him  too  a charming  feature  in  society,  a 
delightful  talker,  an  easy,  graceful,  delectable  com- 
panion, an  interested  adviser  and  counsellor,  a 
beloved  person  in  his  family,  an  excellent  townsman. 

We  should  be  grateful  for  this,  that  one  has  lived 
to  irradiate  a somewhat  sad  profession,  to  warm  the 
bleak  spaces  of  mortal  existence,  to  throw  a gleam 
of  gladness  upon  the  sunless  problems  of  human 
destiny.  It  is  a great  deal  to  be  assured  that  a 
living  heart  has  walked  with  us,  and  that  a living 
voice  has  proclaimed  the  heart-side  of  man’s  lot. 


XIII. 


MY  COMPANIONS. 

These  were  many,  but  most  of  them  are  living 
and  cannot,  therefore,  be  spoken  of.  There  is  an 
advantage  in  writing  about  the  dead,  for  they  can- 
not protest  against  the  handsome  things  you  say, 
and  they  cannot  remonstrate  against  the  unhandsome 
things.  I shall  on  this  account  choose  but  two, 
with  whom  I was  very  intimate,  and  who  are  very 
near  to  my  heart.  I shall  give  sketches  of  John 
Weiss  and  Samuel  Johnson,  and  first  of  John  Weiss.* 

This  man  was  a flame  of  fire.  He  was  genius 
unalloyed  by  terrestrial  considerations  ; a spirit' 
lamp  always  burning.  He  had  an  overflow  of 
nervous  vitality,  an  excess  of  spiritual  life  that 
could  not  find  vents  enough  for  its  discharge.  As 
his  figure  comes  before  me  it  seems  that  of  one  who 
is  more  than  half  transfigured.  His  large  head  ; his 
ample  brow  ; his  great,  dark  eyes  ; his  “ sable- 
silvered  ” beard  and  full  moustache  ; his  gray  hair, 
thick  and  close  on  top,  with  the  strange  line  of  black 
beneath  it,  like  a fillet  of  jet ; his  thin,  piping,  pene- 


Reprinted  from  the  Unitarian  Review  of  May,  1888. 
190 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


I9I 

trating,  tenuous  voice,  that  trembled  as  it  conveyed 
the  torrent  of  thought;  the  rapid,  sudden  manner, 
suggesting  sometimes  the  lark  and  sometimes  the 
eagle ; the  small  but  sinewy  body ; the  delicate 
hands  and  feet ; the  sensitive  touch,  feeling  impalpa- 
ble vibrations  and  detecting  movements  of  intelli- 
gence within  the  folds  of  organization  (they  say  he 
could  tell  the  character  of  a great  writer  by  holding 
a sealed  letter  from  his  hand), — all  indicated  a half- 
disembodied  soul.  His  spoken  addresses  and  written 
discourses  confirm  the  impression. 

I first  met  him  at  the  meetings  of  the  “ Hook-and- 
Ladder,”  * a ministerial  club  of  which  we  both  were 
members.  At  the  house  of  Thomas  Starr  King,  in 
Boston,  he  read  a sermon  on  the  supremacy  of  the 
spiritual  element  in  character,  which  impressed  me 
as  few  pulpit  utterances  ever  did,  so  fine  was  it,  so 
subtle,  yet  so  massive  in  conviction.  Illustrations 
that  he  used  stay  by  me  now,  after  the  lapse  of  more 

* We  copy  from  a private  letter  the  following  account  of  the  origin  of  this 
club  and  of  its  grotesque  name,  which  has  lost,  alas  ! its  significance  to  the 
younger  generation.  “In  the  year  1844  (I  think  it  was)  a few  of  us  young 
ministers  formed  a club,  including  Charles  Brigham,  Edward  Hale,  John 
Weiss,  with  one  or  two  elders,  as  Dr.  Hedge  and,  later,  O.  B.  Frothingham, 
Starr  King,  W.  R.  Alger,  William  B.  Greene,  and  others.  We  went  long 
without  a name,  in  spite  of  my  urgent  appeals  as  Secretary,  till  one  fine  day, 
at  George  R.  Russell’s  house  in  West  Roxbury,  in  an  after-dinner  frolic, 
Weiss  turned  the  garden-engine  hose  upon  a fellow-member  and  drenched 
him  from  head  to  foot  ; upon  which  escapade  it  was  unanimously  agreed  to 
call  ourselves  the  ‘ Hook-and- Ladder,’  by  which  name  the  memory  of  it  is 
fondly  kept  among  us  to  this  day.  A similar  older  fraternity  had  gone  by 
the  name  of  the  ‘ Railroad  Association,’  and,  in  imitation,  when  it  was  pro- 
posed to  borrow  a title  from  some  like  line  of  industry  we,  on  this  sudden 
whim,  chose  the  fire-department.” 


IQ2 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


than  forty  years.  I next  heard  him  in  New  Bed- 
ford, at  the  installation  of  Charles  Lowe,  when,  in 
ill-health  and  feeble,  he  gave,  in  substance,  the  dis- 
course on  Materialism,  afterwards  published  in  the 
volume  on  “ Immortal  Life.”  It  struck  me  then  as 
exceedingly  able ; and  it  derived  force  from  the  in- 
tense earnestness  of  its  delivery,  as  by  one  who  could 
look  into  the  invisible  world,  and  could  speak  no 
light  word  or  consult  transient  effects.  Many  years 
later,  I listened,  in  New  York,  to  his  lectures  on 
Greek  ideas,  the  keenest  interpretation  of  the  ancient 
myths,  the  most  profound,  luminous,  sympathetic,  I 
have  met  with.  He  had  the  faculty  of  reading  be- 
tween the  lines,  of  apprehending  the  hidden  mean- 
ing, of  setting  the  old  stories  in  the  light  of  univer- 
sal ideas,  of  lighting  up  allusions.  The  lecture  on 
Prometheus  I remember  as  especially  radiant  and 
inspiring  ; but  they  were  all  remarkable  for  positive 
suggestions  of  a very  noble  kind. 

His  genius  was  eminently  religious.  Not,  indeed; 
in  any  customary  fashion,  nor  after  any  usual  way. 
He  belonged  to  the  Rationalists,  was  a Protestant  of 
an  extreme  type,  an  avowed  adherent  of  the  most 
“ advanced  ” views,  a speaker  on  the  Free  Religious 
platform,  a writer  for  the  Massachusetts  Quarterly , 
and  for  the  Radical.  His  was  a purely  natural, 
scientific,  spiritual  faith,  unorthodox  to  the  last  de- 
gree,— logically,  historically,  critically,  sentimentally 
so, — so  on  principle  and  with  fixed  purpose.  The 
accepted  theory  of  religion  excited  his  indignation, 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


193 


his  scorn,  his  amazement,  and  his  mirth.  He  could 
brook  no  dogmatic  limitations,  even  of  the  most 
liberal  sect,  but  went  on  and  on,  past  all  barriers, 
facing  all  adversaries,  confronting  every  difficulty, 
and  resting  only  when  there  was  nothing  more  to 
discover.  He  had  an  agonized  impatience  to  know 
whatever  was  to  be  known,  to  get  at  the  ultimate 
data  of  assurance.  Nothing  less  would  satisfy  him. 
His  cup  of  joy  was  not  full  till  he  could  touch  the 
bottom.  Then  it  overflowed,  and  there  was  glee  as 
of  a strong  swimmer  who  is  sure  of  his  tide.  His 
exultation  is  almost  painful,  as  he  welcomes  fact 
after  fact,  feeling  more  and  more  positive,  with  each 
new  demonstration  of  science,  that  the  advent  of 
certainty  was  by  so  much  nearer.  Evidence  that  to 
most  minds  seemed  fatal  to  belief  was,  in  his  sight, 
confirmatory  of  it,  as  rendering  its  need  more  clear 
and  more  imperious.  “ We  need  be  afraid  of  nothing 
in  heaven  or  earth,  whether  dreamt  of  or  not  in  our 
philosophy.”  “ The  position  of  theistic  naturalism 
entitles  it  not  to  be  afraid  of  all  the  scientific  facts 
that  can  be  produced.”  “There  is  dignity  in  dust 
that  reaches  any  form,  because  it  eventually  betrays 
a forming  power,  and  ceases  to  be  dust  by  sharing 
it.”  “ It  is  a wonder  to  me  that  scholars  and  clergy- 
men are  so  skittish  about  scientific  facts.”  “We  owe 
a debt  to  the  scientific  man  who  can  show  how  many 
moral  customs  result  from  local  and  ethnic  experi- 
ences, and  how  the  conscience  is  everywhere  capable 
of  inheritance  and  education.  He  cannot  bring  us 


194 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


too  many  facts  of  this  description,  because  we  have 
one  fact  too  much  for  him  ; namely,  a latent  tend 
ency  of  conscience  to  repudiate  inheritance  and 
every  experience  of  utility,  to  fly  in  its  face  with  a 
forecast  of  a transcendental  utility  that  supplies  the 
world  with  its  redeemers,  and  continually  drags  it 
out  of  the  snug  and  accurate  adjustment  of  selfish- 
ness to  which  it  arrives.”  There  is  a great  deal  to 
the  same  purpose.  In  fact,  Mr.  Weiss  cannot  say 
enough  on  this  head.  He  accepts  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  in  its  wdiole  length  and  breadth.  “ Of 
what  consequence  is  it  whence  the  living  matter  is 
derived?  We  are  not  appalled  at  the  possibility 
that  organic  matter  may  be  made  out  of  non-living, 
or,  more  properly,  inorganic  matter.  We  are  nerved 
for  such  a result,  whether  it  occur  in  the  laboratory 
or  in  nature,  by  the  conviction  that  the  spiritual 
functions  are  no  more  imperilled  by  using  matter  in 
any  way,  than  that  the  Creator  hazarded  his  exist- 
ence by  originating  matter  in  some  way  to  be  used 
by  himself  and  by  us.”  “ Science  does  me  this  ines- 
timable benefit  of  providing  a universe  to  support 
my  personal  identity,  my  moral  sense,  and  my  feel- 
ins:  that  these  two  functions  of  mind  cannot  be 
killed.  Its  denials,  no  less  than  its  affirmations,  set 
free  all  the  facts  I need  to  make  my  body  an  expres- 
sion of  mental  independence.  Hand-in-hand  with 
science  I go,  by  the  steps  of  development  back  to 
the  dawn  of  creation ; and,  when  there,  we  review 
all  the  forces  and  their  combinations  that  have 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


195 


helped  us  to  arrive,  and  both  of  us  together  break 
into  a confession  of  a force  of  forces.” 

This  cordial  sympathy  with  science,  this  absence 
of  all  savor  of  a polemical  spirit,  this  hearty  wel- 
coming of  every  fact  of  anatomy  and  chemistry,  is 
very  noble  and  inspiring.  It  is  very  wise,  too,  though 
the  noble,  hearty  side  was  alone  attractive  to  him. 
He  had  in  view  no  other,  being  a single-minded  lover 
of  truth.  But,  nevertheless,  he  could  not  have 
adopted  a more  politic  course.  For  thus  he  pro- 
pitiated the  scepticism  of  the  age,  struck  in  with  the 
prevailing  current,  disarmed  opposition,  and  erected 
his  own  principles  on  the  eminence  which  scientific 
men  have  raised  and  which  they  cannot  build  too 
high  for  his  purposes.  He  doubles  on  his  pursuers, 
and  fairly  flanks  his  foes.  This  throws  the  labor  of 
refuting  him  on  the  idealists,  who  may  not  care  to 
become  responsible  for  his  positions,  and  may  demur 
to  conclusions  he  arrives  at,  while  they  cannot  but 
applaud  his  general  aims,  and  wish  they  could  give 
positive  assent  to  all  his  specific  doctrines.  There 
was  always  this  discrepancy  between  his  sentiment 
and  his  logic  ; but  it  came  out  most  conspicuously 
in  his  elaborate  arguments. 

The  burden  of  his  exposition  was  the  existence  of 
an  ideal  sphere,  quite  distinct  from  visible  phe- 
nomena ; facts  of  consciousness  attesting  personality, 
a moral  law,  an  intelligent  cause,  an  active  con- 
science, a living  heart ; order,  beauty,  harmony,  hu- 
manity, self-forgetfulness,  self-denial.  As  he  states  it : 


196  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

I claim,  against  a strictly  logical  empirical  method,  three 
classes  of  facts  : first,  the  authentic  facts  of  the  Moral  Sense, 
whenever  it  appears  as  the  transcender  of  the  ripest  average 
utility  ; second,  the  facts  of  the  Imagination,  as  the  anticipator 
of  mental  methods  by  pervading  everything  with  personality, 
by  imputing  life  to  objects,  or  by  occasional  direct  suggestion  ; 
third,  the  facts  of  the  Harmonic  Sense,  as  the  reconciler  of  dis- 
crete and  apparently  sundered  objects,  as  the  prophet  and 
artist  of  number  and  mathematical  ratio,  as  the  unifier  of  all 
the  contents  of  the  soul  into  the  acclaim  which  rises  when  the 
law  of  unity  fills  the  scene.  Upon  these  facts,  I chiefly  sustain 
myself  against  the  theory  which,  when  it  is  consistently  ex- 
plained, derives  all  possible  mental  functions  from  the  impacts 
of  objectivity. 

If  Mr.  Weiss  had  stopped  with  this  general  thesis, 
he  would  probably  have  carried  most  Rationalists, 
certainly  the  mass  of  Transcendentalists,  with  him. 
They  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  welcome  so 
clear  and  brilliant  a champion.  But  he  insisted  on 
gathering  up  these  conceptions  into  two  points  of 
doctrine — God  and  Immortality.  On  these  points 
his  arguments  become  strained,  and  too  subtle  for 
ordinary  minds.  Indeed,  many  will  be  inclined  to 
suspect  his  whole  exposition,  which  would  be  a mis- 
fortune of  a very  grave  character.  Mr.  Emerson 
avoided  all  definite  assertion  of  personality  carried 
beyond  the  limits  of  individuality  in  the  present 
state  of  existence.  Mr.  Weiss  is  more  daring,  and 
proclaims  a God  who  arranges  creation  as  it  is,  and 
an  immortality  that  drops  what  to  most  people  con- 
stitutes their  highly  valued  possessions — namely, 
their  “ animalities  ” of  various  kinds.  W hat  will 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


197 


most  men  tliink  of  a God  who  “ takes  his  chances,” 
who  “ in  planet-scenery  and  animal  life  is  at  his 
play,”  who  puts  up  in  his  divine  laboratory  “ curare 
and  strychnine,”  and  cannot  “recognize  the  word 
disaster”  though  he  makes  the  thing  ? To  how 
many  will  an  immortality  be  conceivable  that  can 
“ belong  only  to  immutable  ideas,”  that  only  “ springs 
from  the  vital  necessity  of  their  own  souls,”  that  is  a 
clinging  “ to  the  breast  of  everlasting  law  ” ? 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  arguments  themselves  for 
this  rather  questionable  result  of  idealism  are  some- 
what unconvincing,  not  to  say  fanciful.  They  are 
chiefly  of  a dogmatic  kind,  that  may  be  met  with 
counter  affirmations,  equally  valid.  Many  of  them 
are  stated  in  a symbolical  or  poetical  or  illustrative 
manner,  the  most  dangerous  of  all  methods.  Ex- 
amples of  this  might  be  multiplied  indefinitely.  I 
had  marked  several  for  confirmation,  but  they  were 
too  long  for  quotation.  One  instance  of  his  mode  of 
reasoning  may  be  given 1 : 

It  is  objected  that  no  thought  and  feeling  have  ever  yet  been 
displayed  independently  of  cerebral  condition  ; they  must  have 
brain,  either  to  originate  or  to  announce  them.  If  brain  be 
source  or  instrument  of  human  consciousness,  what  preserves 
it  when  the  brain  is  dead  ? But  there  would  have  been  no 
universe  on  such  terms  as  that.  What  supplied  infinite  mind 
with  its  preliminary  sine  qua  ?ion  of  brain  matter  ? 

But,  surely,  if  this  is  an  argument  at  all,  if  it  does 
not  beg  the  very  question  in  debate — namely,  whether 

’ It  occurs  in  “ American  Religion,”  p.  149. 


198  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

there  is  an  infinite  mind, — is  it  not  an  argument  for 
atheism  ? For  either  the  existing  universe  fully  ex- 
presses Deity,  in  which  case  Deity  is  something  less 
than  infinite  ; or  Deity  must  be  conceived  as  very 
imperfect,  and  a progressive,  tentative  Divinity  is  no 
better  than  none. 

To  be  sure,  he  says  : “We  attribute  Personality 
to  the  divine  Being,  because  we  cannot  otherwise 
refer  to  any  source  the  phenomena  that  show  Will 
and  Intellect.”  That  is  to  say,  we  yield  to  a logical 
necessity.  To  argue  that  materialism  “ reeks  with 
immortality  ” because  “ the  baldest  negation  is  not 
merely  a verbal  contradiction  of  an  affirmation,  but 
a contribution  to  its  probability, — for  it  testifies  that 
there  was  something  previously  taken  for  granted,” 
— is  really  a play  upon  words,  inasmuch  as  the  denial 
is  simply  an  affirmation  of  certain  facts,  and  by  no 
means  a categorical  declaration  involving  all  the  facts 
at  issue.  By  claiming  none  but  relative  knowledge, 
the  antithesis  is  removed. 

One  is  conscious  of  a suspicion  that  the  author’s 
tremendous  overflow  of  nervous  vitality  had  much 
to  do  with  the  vehemence  of  his  persuasions.  He 
himself  countenances  such  a suspicion.  “ I confess,” 
he  declares,  “ to  an  all-pervading  instinct  of  personal 
continuance,  coupled  with  a latent,  haunting  feeling 
that  there  is  a point  somewhere  in  human  existence, 
as  there  has  been  in  the  past,  where  animality  con- 
trols the  fate  of  men.  Where  is  that  point  ? We 
recoil  from  every  effort  to  draw  the  line."  He  had 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


l99 


a very  strong  sense  of  personality,  with  its  inevitable 
reference  of  persistency.  “To  us, perhaps,”  he  cries, 
in  a kind  of  anguish,  “ no  thought  could  be  so  dread- 
ful, no  surmise  so  harrowing,  as  that  we  might  slip 
into  nonentity.  We  impetuously  repel  the  haunting 
doubt.  We  shut  the  eyes,  and  cower  before  the 
goblin  in  abject  dread  until  it  is  gone.  With  the 
beauty-loving  and  full-blooded  Claudio,  we  cry, — 

Oh,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where.” 

and  he  quotes  the  rest  of  the  famous  passage  in 
“ Measure  for  Measure,”  adding  for  himself  : “ Put 
us  anywhere,  but  onty  let  us  live ; and  we  could  feel 
with  Lear,  wheu  he  says  to  Cordelia, — 

Come,  let ’s  away  to  prison. 

We  two  alone  will  sing  like  birds  i’  the  cage.” 

Then,  too,  there  come  to  us  the  tender  and  overpowering 
moments  when  we  can  no  longer  put  up  with  being  separated 
from  beloved  objects,  who  tore  at  the  grain  of  our  life  when 
they  went  away  elsewhere,  with  portions  of  it  clinging  to  them. 
We  must  have  them  again.  Shall  life  be  stabbed  and  no 
justice  compensate  these  sickening  drippings  of  the  soul  in 
her  secret  faintness  ? The  old  familiar  faces  have  registered 
in  our  hearts  a contempt  for  graves  and  burials.  Not  so 
cheaply  can  we  be  taken  in,  when  the  lost  life  lies  quick  in 
memory  still,  and  cries  against  the  insults  which  mortality 
wreaks  on  love. 

Is  not  this  an  exclamation  of  temperament  ? 

John  Weiss  was  essentially  a poet.  His  pages  are 
saturated  with  poetry.  His  very  arguments  are 
expressed  in  poetic  imagery.  To  take  two  or  three 
examples  : 


200 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


One  who  rides  from  South-west  Harbor  to  Bar  Harbor  in 
Mt.  Desert  will  see  a grove  in  which  the  pines  stand  so  close 
that  all  the  branches  have  withered  two-thirds  of  the  way  up 
the  trunks,  and  are  nothing  but  dead  sticks,  broken  and  dan- 
gling. But  every  tree  bears  close,  each  to  each,  its  evergreen 
crown  ; and  they  seem  to  make  a floor  for  the  day  to  walk  on. 
This  pavement  for  the  feet  of  heaven,  more  precious  than  the 
fancied  one  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  stretches  all  round  the 
world,  above  the  thickets  of  our  spiny  egotism,  where  people 
run  up  into  the  only  coherence  upon  which  it  is  safe  for  Deity 
to  tread. 

Or  this  about  tlie  poet’s  inspired  hour: 

Through  flat  and  unprofitable  moments,  a poet  is  waiting 
for  the  next  consent  of  his  imagination.  The  bed  of  every 
gift,  that  lately  sparkled  or  thundered  as  the  freshet  of  the 
hills  sent  its  surprises  down,  lies  empty,  waiting  for  the  master 
passion  to  open  the  sluice  when  it  hears  the  steps  of  coming 
waves.  The  poet’s  nature  strains  against  the  dumb  gates  of 
his  body  and  his  mood.  With  power  and  longing  he  hears 
them  open,  and  is  brim  full  again  with  the  rhythm  that  col- 
lects from  the  whole  face  of  Nature, — the  hillside,  the  ravine, 
the  drifting  cloud,  the  vapors  just  arrived  from  the  ocean,  the 
drops  that  flowers  nod  with  to  flavor  the  stream,  the  human 
smiles  that  colonize  both  banks  of  it.  All  passions,  all 
delights  hurry  to  possess  his  thought,  crowd  into  the  precincts 
of  his  person,  pain  him  with  the  tumult  in  which  they  offer 
him  obedience,  remind  him  of  his  last  joy  in  their  companion- 
ship, and  will  not  let  him  go  till  he  ennobles  them  by  bursting 
into  expression.  Relief  flows  down  with  every  perfect  word  ; 
the  congested  soul  bleeds  into  the  lyric  and  the  canto  ; the 
poet’s  burden  becomes  light-hearted,  and  the  supreme  moment 
of  his  travail,  when  it  breaks  in  showers  of  his  emotion,  cools 
and  comforts  him  ; he  must  die  or  express  himself.  All  the 
blood  in  the  earth’s  arteries  is  running  through  his  heart ; all 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


201 


the  stars  in  the  sky  are  set  in  his  brain’s  dome.  This  light 
and  life  must  be  discharged  into  a word,  and  the  poet  restored 
to  health  and  peace  again. 

Or  the  following  rhapsody  about  health : 

What  a religious  ecstasy  is  health  ! Its  free  step  claims 
every  meadow  that  is  glad  with  flowers  ; its  bubbling  spirits 
fill  the  cup  of  wide  horizons  and  drip  down  their  brims  ; its 
thankfulness  is  the  prayer  that  takes  possession  of  the  sun  by 
day  and  the  stars  by  night.  Every  dancing  member  of  the 
body  whirls  off  the  soul  to  tread  the  measures  of  great  feel- 
ings, and  God  hears  people  saying  : “ How  precious  also  are 
thy  thoughts,  how  great  is  the  sum  of  them  ! When  I awake, 
I am  still  with  thee.”  Yes, — when  I awake,  but  not  before  ; 
not  while  the  brain  is  saturated  with  nervous  blood,  till  it  falls 
into  comatose  doctrines,  and  goes  maundering  with  its  attack 
of  mediatorial  piety  and  grace  ; not  while  a stomach  depraved 
by  fried  food,  apothecary’s  drugs,  and  iron-clad  pastry  (that 
target  impenetrable  by  digestion)  supplies  the  constitution 
with  its  vale  of  tears,  ruin  of  mankind,  and  better  luck  here- 
after. When  all  my  veins  flow  unobstructed,  and  lift  to  the 
level  of  my  eyes  the  daily  gladness  that  finds  a gate  at  every 
pore  ; when  the  roaming  gifts  come  home  from  Nature  to 
turn  the  brain  into  a hive  of  cells  full  of  yellow  sunshine,  the 
spoil  of  all  the  chalices  of  the  earth  beneath  and  the  heavens 
above, — then  I am  the  subject  of  a Revival  of  Religion. 

Or  these  passages  about  music,  of  which  he  was 
always  a devoted  lover,  a passionate  admirer,  an 
excellent  critic.  My  first  extract  is  used  to  illus- 
trate the  doctrine  of  evolution,  and  suggests  Brown- 
ing’s poem  of  “Abt  Vogler.”  It  should  be  said,  by 
the  way,  that  Weiss  was  a great  student  of  Brown- 
ing, whose  lines  in  “ Paracelsus,”  prophetic  of  the 


202 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


evolution  doctrine,  was  often  on  his  lips.  He  even 
understood  “ Sordello.” 

The  divine  composer,  summoning  instrument  after  instru- 
ment into  his  harmony,  climbed  with  his  theme  from  those 
which  offered  but  a single  note  to  those  that  exhaust  the  com- 
plexity of  thought  and  feeling,  to  combine  them  into  expres- 
sion, kindling  through  hints,  phrases,  sudden  concords,  mus- 
tering consents  of  many  wills,  releases  of  each  one’s  felicity 
into  comradeship,  till  the  sweet  tumult  becomes  his  champion, 
and  bursts  into  an  acclaim  of  a whole  world.  “ I ought — so 
then  I will.”  The  toppling  instruments  concur,  become  the 
wave  that  touches  that  high  moment,  lifts  the  whole  deep,  and 
holds  it  there. 

When  perfect  music  drives  its  golden  scythe-chariot  up  the 
fine  nerves,  across  the  bridge  of  association,  through  the  stern 
portcullis  of  care,  and  alights  in  the  heart  of  man,  there  is 
adoration,  whether  he  faints  with  excess  of  recognition  of  one 
long  absent,  and  lies  prostrate  in  the  arms  of  rhythm,  feeling 
that  he  is  not  worthy  it  should  come  under  his  roof,  or 
whether  he  mounts  the  seat  and  grasps  the  thrilling  reins  ; 
God’s  unity  is  riding  through  his  distraction,  brought  by  that 
team  of  all  the  instruments  which  shake  their  manes  across 
the  pavement  of  his  bosom,  and  strike  out  the  sparks  of 
longing. 

In  calling  Mr.  Weiss  essentially  a poet,  I am  far 
from  implying  that  he  was  not  a thinker.  Perhaps 
he  was  more  subtle  and  more  brilliant  a thinker  for 
being  also  a poet — that  is,  for  seeing  truth  through  the 
medium  of  the  imagination,  for  following  the  path 
of  analogy.  At  any  rate,  his  being  a poet  did  not 
in  the  least  interfere  with  the  acuteness  or  the  pre- 
cision of  his  thinking,  as  any  one  can  see  who  reads 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


203 


his  chapters — those,  for  example,  which  compose  the 
volume  entitled  “American  Religion.”  I had  marked 
for  citation  so  many  passages  that  it  would  be 
necessary  to  quote  half  the  book  to  illustrate  my 
thesis.  When  I first  knew  him,  he  was  a strict 
Transcendentalist.  Dr.  Orestes  Brownson,  no  mean 
judge  on  such  matters,  spoke  of  him  as  the  most  prom- 
ising philosophical  mind  in  the  country.  To  a native 
talent  for  metaphysics,  his  early  studies  at  Heidelberg 
probably  contributed  congenial  training.  His  knowl- 
edge of  German  philosophy  may  well  have  been 
stimulated  and  matured  by  his  residence  in  that 
centre  of  active  thought ; while  his  intimacy,  on  his 
return,  with  the  keenest  intellects  in  this  country 
may  well  have  sharpened  his  original  predilection 
for  abstract  speculation.  However  this  may  have 
been,  the  tendency  of  his  genius  was  decidedly 
toward  metaphysical  problems  and  the  interpretation 
of  the  human  consciousness.  This  he  erected  as  a 
barrier  against  materialism ; and  this  he  probed  with 
a depth  and  a fearlessness  which  were  truly  extraor- 
dinary, and  would  have  been  remarkable  in  any  dis- 
ciple of  the  school  to  which  he  belonged.  No  one 
that  I can  think  of  was  so  fine,  so  profound,  so  ana- 
lytical. His  volume  on  “American  Religion”  was 
full  of  nice  discriminations ; so  was  his  volume  on 
the  “ Immortal  Life  ” ; so  were  his  articles  and  lec- 
tures. His  “Life  of  Theodore  Parker”  abounded  in 
curious  learning  as  well  as  in  vigorous  thinking. 
He  could  follow,  step  by  step,  the  great  leader  of  re- 


204 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


formatory  ideas,  and  went  far  beyond  him  in  subtle- 
ty and  accuracy  of  mental  delineation.  He  could 
not  rest  in  sentiment,  must  have  demonstration,  and 
never  stopped  till  he  reached  the  ultimate  ground 
of  truth  as  he  regarded  it.  Ideas,  when  he  found 
them,  were  usually,  not  always,  expressed  in  sym- 
bolical forms.  His  alert  fancy  detected  likenesses 
that  would  have  been  concealed  from  common  eyes ; 
and  often  the  splendor  of  the  exposition  hid  the 
keenness  of  the  logical  temper,  as  a sword  wreathed 
with  roses  lies  unperceived.  But  the  tempered  steel 
was  there  and  they  who  examined  closely  felt  its 
edge. 

He  was  a man  of  undaunted  courage,  being  an 
idealist  who  lived  out  of  the  world,  and  a living 
soul  animated  by  overwhelming  convictions,  which 
he  was  anxious  to  convey  to  others  as  of  immense 
importance.  He  believed,  with  all  his  heart,  in  the 
doctrines  he  had  arrived  at,  and,  like  a soldier  in 
battle,  was  unconscious  of  the  danger  he  incurred  or 
of  the  wounds  he  received,  being  unaware  of  his 
own  darino-  or  fortitude.  He  was  an  anti-slavery 
man  from  the  beginning.  At  a large  meeting  held 
in  Waltham  in  1845,  to  protest  against  the  admis- 
sion of  Texas  as  a slave  State,  Mr.  Weiss,  then  a 
minister  at  Watertown,  Mass.,  delivered  a speech  in 
which  he  said  : “ Our  Northern  apathy  heated  the 
iron,  forged  the  manacles,  and  built  the  pillory, 
declared  that  man  was  more  than  constitutions  (bor- 
rowing a phrase  from  James  Russell  Lowell),  and 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


205 


that  Christ  was  greater  than  Hancock  and  Adams. 
To  his  unflinching  devotion  to  free  thought  in 
religion,  he  owed  something  of  his  unpopularity 
with  the  masses  of  the  people,  who  were  orthodox 
in  opinion,  though  his  failure  to  touch  the  general 
mind  was  probably  due  to  other  causes.  The  class 
of  disbelievers  was  pretty  large  in  his  day  and  very 
self-asserting.  Boldness  never  fails  to  attract ; and 
brilliancy,  if  it  be  on  the  plane  of  ordinary  vision, 
draws  the  eyes  of  the  multitude,  who  are  on  the 
watch  for  a sensation. 

The  chief  trouble  was  that  his  brilliancy  was  not 
on  the  plane  of  ordinary  vision,  but  was  recondite, 
ingenious,  fanciful.  He  was  too  learned,  too  fond 
of  allusions  — literary,  scientific,  historical, — too 
swift  in  his  mental  processes.  His  addresses 
were  delivered  to  an  audience  of  his  friends,  not 
to  a miscellaneous  company.  They  were  of  the 
nature  of  soliloquies  spoken  out  of  his  own  mind, 
instead  of  being  speeches  intended  to  meet  the 
needs  of  others.  His  lectures  and  sermons  were 
not  easy  to  follow,  even  if  the  listener  was  more 
than  usually  cultivated.  Shall  it  be  added  that  his 
sincerity  of  speech,  running  into  brusqueness,  star- 
tled a good  many  ? He  was  theological  and  philo- 
sophical, and  he  could  not  keep  his  hands  off  when 
what  he  considered  as  errors  in  theology  or  philoso- 
phy came  into  view.  His  wit  was  sharper  than  he 
thought,  while  the  laugh  it  raised  was  frequently 
overbalanced  by  the  sting  it  left  behind  in  some 


206 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


breasts.  It  was  too  often  a “ wicked  wit,”  barbed  and 
poisoned,  which  one  must  be  in  league  with  to  enjoy. 
They  who  were  in  sympathy  with  the  speaker  were 
delighted  with  it,  but  they  who  were  not  went  off 
aggrieved.  No  doubt  this  attested  the  earnestness 
of  the  man,  who  scorned  to  cloak  his  convictions ; 
but  it  wounded  the  self-love  of  such  as  were  in 
search  of  pleasure  or  instruction,  and  interfered  with 
his  general  acceptableness.  A broad,  genial,  good- 
natured,  truculent  style  of  ventilating  even  heresies 
may  not  be  repulsive  to  people  of  a conventional, 
believing  turn ; in  fact,  it  is  not,  as  we  know.  But 
the  thrusts  of  a rapier,  especially  when  unexpected, 
are  not  forgiven.  Mr.  Weiss  drew  larger  audiences 
as  a preacher  on  religious  themes  than  he  did  as  a 
lecturer  on  secular  subjects,  where  one  hardly  knew 
what  to  look  for,  because  he  was  known  to  be  out- 
spoken and  capable  of  introducing  heresies  on  the 
platform. 

Then  he  was  in  all  respects  unconventional.  His 
spontaneous  exuberance  of  animal  spirits,  which  led 
him  to  roll  on  the  grass,  join  in  frolicsome  games, 
play  all  sorts  of  antics,  indulge  in  jokes,  mimicry, 
boisterous  mirthfulness,  was  inconsistent  with  the 
staid,  proper  demeanor  required  by  social  usage. 
How  he  kept  himself  within  limits  as  he  did  was  a 
surprise  to  his  friends.  Ordinary  natures  can  form 
no  conception  of  the  weight  such  a man  must  have 
put  upon  his  temperament  to  press  it  down  to  the 
level  of  common  experience.  Temptations  to  which 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


20  7 


he  was  liable  every  day  do  not  visit  average  minds 
in  their  whole  lifetime,  and  cannot  by  such  minds 
be  comprehended.  The  stiff,  upright,  careful  old 
man  cannot  understand  the  jocund  pliability  of  the 
boy,  who,  nevertheless,  simply  expends  the  super- 
fluity of  his  natural  vigor,  and  relieves  his  excess  of 
nervous  excitability.  On  thinking  it  all  over, 
remembering  his  appetite  for  life,  his  joy  in  exist- 
ence, his  nervous  exhilaration,  his  love  of  beauty,  his 
passionate  ardor  of  temperament,  I am  surprised  that 
he  preserved,  as  he  did,  so  much  dignity  and  sober- 
ness of  character.  I have  seen  him  in  his  wildest 
mood,  yet  I never  saw  him  thrown  off  his  balance. 
With  as  much  brilliancy  as  Sydney  Smith,  he  had,  as 
Sydney  Smith  had  not,  a breadth  of  knowledge,  a 
depth  of  feeling,  a soaring  energy  of  soul  that  kept 
him  above  vulgar  seductions,  and  did  for  him,  in  a 
nobler  way,  what  ambition,  love  of  place,  conven- 
tional associations  did  for  the  famous  Englishman. 

The  difficulty  was  that  he  was  too  far  removed 
from  the  common  ground  of  sympathy.  He  could 
not  endure  routine,  or  behave  as  other  people  be- 
haved, and  as  it  was  generally  fancied  he  should.  If 
Sydney  Smith’s  jocularity  interfered  with  his  pro- 
motion, how  much  more  did  he  have  to  contend  with 
who  to  the  jocularity  added  an  enthusiastic  devotion 
to  heresy,  a partiality  for  metaphysical  speculation, 
and  a poetic  glow  that  removed  him  from  ordinary 
comprehension  ! With  an  unworldliness  worthy  of 
all  praise,  but  fatal  to  the  provision  of  daily  bread, 


208 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


he  left  the  ministry,  a fixed  income,  a confirmed 
social  position,  ample  leisure  for  study  and  for  liter- 
ary pursuits,  and  launched  forth  on  the  uncertain 
career  of  lecturer.  He  was  not  the  first  who  failed 
in  attempting  to  harness  Pegasus  to  a cart,  in  the 
hope  of  making  him  useful  in  mundane  ways.  Nei- 
ther discharged  his  full  function.  The  cart  would 
not  run  smoothly,  and  the  steed  was  not  happy. 
The  old  profession  has  this  advantage  : that  to  all 
practical  purposes,  the  wagon  goes  over  the  celestial 
pavement  where  there  is  no  mud  nor  clangor,  and 
Pegasus  can  seem  to  he  harnessed  to  a chariot  of  the 
sun. 

Weiss  simply  disappeared  from  view.  His  books 
were  scattered ; his  lectures  and  sermons  were 
worked  over  and  over,  the  best  of  them  being  pub- 
lished in  his  several  volumes.  A few  relics  of  the 
author  remain  in  the  hands  of  his  widow,  who  is 
grateful  for  any  recognition  of  his  genius,  any  help 
to  diffuse  his  writings,  and  tribute  to  his  memory. 
They  who  knew  him  can  never  forget  him.  Perhaps 
the  very  vividness  of  their  recollection  makes  them 
indifferent  to  the  possession  of  visible  memorials  of 
their  friend. 

Samuel  Johnson  should  be  known  as  the  apostle 
of  individualism.  The  apostle  I say,  for  this  with 
him  was  a religion,  and  the  preaching  of  individ- 
ualism was  a gospel  message.  He  would  not  belong 
to  any  church,  or  subscribe  to  any  creed,  or  connect 
himself  with  any  sect,  or  be  a member  of  any 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


209 


organization  whatever,  however  wide  or  elastic, 
however  consonant  with  convictions  that  he  held, 
with  beliefs  that  he  entertained,  with  purposes  that 
he  cherished,  with  plans  that  were  dear  to  him. 
He  never  joined  the  “ Anti-Slavery  Society,”  though 
he  was  an  Abolitionist;  or  the  “Free  Religious 
Association,”  though  its  aims  were  essentially  his 
own,  and  he  spoke  on  its  platform.  He  made  it  a 
principle  to  act  alone,  herein  being  a true  disciple 
of  Emerson,  whose  mission  was  to  individual  minds. 
He  wrote  a long  letter  to  me  on  the  occasion  of 
establishing  the  “ Free  Religious  Association,”  of 
which  I wished  him  to  become  a member,  that  re- 
calls the  letter  written  by  Mr.  Emerson  in  reply  to 
George  Ripley  when  asked  to  join  the  community 
of  Brook  Farm,  and  whereof  the  following  is  an 
extract : 


My  feeling  is  that  the  community  is  not  good  for  me,  that 
it  has  little  to  offer  me  which  with  resolution  I cannot  procure 
for  myself.  ...  It  seems  to  me  a circuitous  and  operose 
way  of  relieving  myself  to  put  upon  your  community  the 
emancipation  which  I ought  to  take  on  myself.  I must 
assume  my  own  vows.  ...  I ought  to  say  that  I do  not 
put  much  trust  in  any  arrangements  or  combinations,  only  in 
the  spirit  which  dictates  them.  Is  that  benevolent  and  divine, 
they  will  answer  their  end.  Is  there  any  alloy  in  that,  it  will 
certainly  appear  in  the  result.  . . . Nor  can  I insist  with 

any  heat  on  new  methods  when  I am  at  work  in  my  study  on 
any  literary  composition.  . . . The  result  of  our  secretest 

attempts  will  certainly  have  as  much  renown  as  shall  be  due 
to  it. 


14 


210 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Johnson  ended  by  discarding  the  church  entirely. 
In  1881  he  wrote  : 

For  my  part,  every  day  I live  the  name  Christian  seems  less 
and  less  to  express  my  thought  and  tendency.  I suspect  it 
will  be  so  with  the  Free-thinking  world  generally. 

In  a sermon,  “ Living  by  Faith,”  he  says  : 

There  is  no  irony  so  great  as  to  call  this  “flight  out  of 
nature  ” and  the  creeds  that  come  of  it,  “faith.”  The  purity 
of  heart  that  really  sees  God  will  have  a mighty  idealization 
of  humanity  at  the  very  basis  of  its  creed,  and  act  on  it  in  all 
its  treatment  of  the  vicious,  the  morally  incapable  and  dis- 
eased. It  is  time  Christendom  was  on  the  search  for  it. 

In  the  paper  on  “ Transcendentalism,”  he  says : 

Christianity  inherited  the  monarchical  idea  of  a God  sep- 
arate from  man,  and  a contempt  for  natural  law  and  human 
faculty  which  crippled  its  faith  in  the  spiritual  and  moral 
ideal.  It  became  more  and  more  a materialism  of  miracle, 
Bible,  church.  Even  its  essay  to  realize  immanent  Deity  yielded 
a more  or  less  exclusive,  mediatorial  God-man  ; and  it  treated 
personality  as  the  mere  consequence  of  one  prescriptive,  his- 
torical force,  just  as  philosophical  materialism  treats  it  as 
mere  product  of  sensations. 

Mr.  Johnson  abhorred  the  monarchical  principle. 
It  was  his  endeavor  to  track  it  from  its  origin, 
through  all  its  forms  of  institution,  ceremonial, 
dogma,  symbol,  from  the  earliest  times  to  the  latest, 
through,  the  whole  East  to  the  farthest  West.  This 
was  the  burden  of  his  studies  in  Oriental  religions, 
the  sum  of  his  criticism,  the  aim  of  his  public  teach- 
ing. He  was  profoundly,  intensely,  absorbingly 
religious,  but  the  form  of  his  religion  was  not 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


21 1 


“ Christian  ” in  any  recognized  sense,  Romanist, 
Protestant,  or  Unitarian.  The  most  radical  thought 
did  not  altogether  please  him.  His  was  a worship 
of  Law,  Order,  Cause,  Harmony,  impersonal,  living, 
natural;  a recognition  of  mind  as  the  supreme  power 
in  the  universe  ; a cosmic,  eternal,  absolute  faith  in 
intellectual  principles  as  the  substance  and  soul  of 
the  world.  God  was,  to  him,  a spiritual  being,  alive, 
vital,  flowing  in  every  mode. 

All  power  of  growth  and  service  depends,  know  it  or  not 
as  we  may,  on  an  ideal  faith  in  somewhat  all-sufficient,  unerr- 
ing, infinitely  wise  and  tender,  inseparable  from  the  inmost  of 
life,  bent  on  our  good  as  we  are  not,  set  against  our  failures  as 
we  cannot  be.  It  means  that  there  can  in  fact  be  no  philosophy 
of  life,  no  law  of  good,  no  belief  in  duty,  no  aspiration,  but 
must  have  such  in-dwelling  perfection,  as  being  alone  reliable 
to  guarantee  its  word.  This  only  is  my  God  ; infinite  ground 
of  all  finite  being  ; essence  of  reason  and  good.  . . . When 
you  see  a function  of  memory,  or  a law  of  perfection,  let  your 
natural  piety  recognize  it  as  wise  and  just  and  good  and  fair. 
Be  loyal  to  the  moral  authority  that  affirms  it  ought  to  be,  and 
somehow  must  be.  Let  your  soul  bring  in  the  leap  of  your 
mind  to  grasp  it.  Then,  if  you  cannot  see  God  in  perfect, 
absolute  essence,  you  will  know  the  Infinite  and  Eternal  in 
their  relation  to  real  and  positive  existence  ; feel  their  freedom 
in  your  own  ; know  their  inseparableness  from  every  move- 
ment of  your  spiritual  being.  . . . The  love  we  feel,  the  truth 
we  pursue,  the  honor  we  cherish,  the  moral  beauty  we  revere, 
blend  in  with  the  eternity  of  the  principles  they  flow  from,  and 
then,  glad  as  in  the  baptism  of  a harvest  morning,  expanding 
towards  human  need  and  the  universal  life  of  man,  our  souls 
walk  free,  breathing  immortal  air.  That  is  God, — not  an  ob- 
ject but  an  experience.  Words  are  but  symbols,  they  do  not 


212 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


define.  We  say  “ Him,”  “ It  ” were  as  well,  if  thereby  we  mean 
life,  wisdom,  love.  . . . Must  we  bind  our  communion  with 
the  just,  the  good,  the  true,  the  humanly  adequate  and  becom- 
ing to  some  personal  life,  some  special  body  of  social  circum- 
stances, some  individual’s  work  in  human  progress  and  upon 
human  idealism  ? How  should  that  be,  when  the  principles 
into  which  the  moral  sense  flowers  out  in  its  maturity  as 
spiritual  liberty,  essentially  involve  a freely  advancing  ideal 
at  every  new  stage  revealing  more  of  God,  whom  nothing  but 
such  universal  energy  can  adequately  reveal  ? ...  If  then, 
we  cannot  see  the  eternal  substance  and  life  of  the  universe,  it 
is  not  because  Deity  is  too  far,  but  because  it  is  too  near.  We 
can  measure  a statue  or  a star,  and  look  round  and  beyond  it ; 
but  the  Life,  Light,  Liberty,  Love,  Peace,  whereby  we  live 
and  know,  and  are  helpful  and  calm  and  free,  which  measures 
and  surrounds  and  even  animates  us,  is  itself  the  very  mystery 
of  our  being,  and  known  only  as  felt  and  lived.  God  stands 
in  all  ideal  thought,  conviction,  aim,  which  ever  reach  into  the 
infinite  ; and  thence,  as  if  an  angel  should  stand  in  the  sun, 
come  attractions  that  draw  forth  the  divine  capabilities  within 
us,  as  the  sun  the  life  and  beauty  of  the  earth.  God  is  the 
inmost  motive,  the  common  path,  the  infinite  import  of  all 
work  we  respect,  honor,  purely  rejoice  in,  and  fulfil  ; of  art, 
science,  philosophy,  intercourse, — whatsoever  function  befits 
the  soul  and  the  day. 

These  quotations,  which  might  be  multiplied  in- 
definitely, in  fact,  which  it  is  difficult  not  to  multi- 
ply, are  probably  enough  to  satisfy  any  who  really 
wish  to  know  that  here  was  a truly  religious  man,  a 
really  devout  man,  the  possessor  of  a living  faith  ; 
one  who  held  fast  to  more  Deity  than  the  multitude 
cherished,  and  welcomed  him  in  a much  more  cordial, 
comprehensive,  natural  manner ; one  who  fairly 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


213 


drenclied  the  world  and  man  with  a divine  spirit, 
but  who  was  all  the  more  spiritual  on  this  account, 
as  a man  attests  his  vigor  by  his  ability  to  lay  aside 
his  crutches,  and  put  the  medicine-chest,  bottles, 
and  boxes  on  the  shelf,  to  walk  in  cold  weather 
without  an  overcoat,  or  lie  naked  on  the  ice  and 
melt  it  through. 

Of  course,  the  only  justification  of  a pretension  of 
this  kind  is  the  actual  vitality  necessary  for  such  a 
feat,  the  sanity  demanded  by  one  who  would  stand 
or  go  alone.  In  Samuel  Johnson’s  case  there  was 
no  question  of  this.  Spiritually,  he  was  a whole 
man,  self-poised,  self-contained,  strong,  clear,  alert, 
a hero  and  a saint.  His  conversation,  his  bearing, 
conduct,  entire  attitude  and  manner  indicated  the 
most  jubilant  faith.  He  never  faltered  in  his  con- 
fidence, never  wavered  in  his  conviction,  never 
abated  a jot  of  hope  that  in  the  order  of  Provi- 
dence all  good  things  would  come.  There  was  some- 
thing staggering  to  the  ordinary  mind,  in  his  as- 
surance of  the  divine  wisdom  and  love.  There  was 
something  altogether  admirable  in  the  elevation  of 
his  character  above  the  trials  and  vexations  that  are 
incident  to  the  human  lot,  and  that  seemed  heaped 
upon  him.  For  his  own  was  not  a smooth  or  for- 
tunate life,  as  men  estimate  felicity.  His  health 
was  far  from  satisfactory.  He  was  not  rich  or 
famous  or  popular  or  sought  after.  He  lived  a life 
of  labor,  in  some  respects,  of  denial  and  sacrifice. 
Not  until  after  his  death  was  the  full  amount  of  his 


214 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


renunciation  apparent  even  to  those  who  thought 
they  knew  him  well. 

He  was  a Transcendentalist — that  is  to  say,  he 
believed  in  the  intuitive  powers  of  the  mind ; he  was 
sure  that  all  primary  truths,  such  ideas  as  those  of 
unity,  universe,  law,  cause,  substance,  will,  duty,  obli- 
gation, permanence,  were  perceived  directly,  and  are 
not  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  data  of  observation 
or  inference,  but  must  be  ascribed  at  once  to  an 
organic  or  constitutional  relation  of  the  mind  with 
truth. 

That  the  name  “Transcendentalism”  was  given,  a century 
ago,  to  a method  in  philosophy  opposed  to  the  theory  of  Locke 
— that  all  knowledge  comes  from  the  senses, — is  more  widely 
known  than  the  fact  that  what  this  method  affirmed  or  in- 
volved is  of  profound  import  for  all  generations.  It  empha- 
sized Mind  as  a formative  force  behind  all  definable  contents 
or  acts  of  consciousness — as  that  which  makes  it  possible  to 
speak  of  anything  as  known.  It  recognized,  as  primal  condi- 
tion of  knowing,  the  transmutation  of  sense-impressions  by 
original  laws  of  mind,  whose  constructive  power  is  not  to  be 
explained  or  measured  by  the  data  of  sensation  ; just  as  they 
use  the  eye  or  ear  to  transform  unknown  spatial  notions  into 
the  obviously  human  conceptions  which  we  call  color  and 
sound.  All  this  the  Lockian  system  overlooked  — a very 
serious  omission,  as  regards  both  science  and  common-sense. 

And  again,  in  the  same  article — that  on  “ Tran- 
scendentalism,” first  printed  in  the  Radical  Re- 
view for  November,  1877,  and  afterwards  included 
iu  the  volume  of  “ Lectures,  Sermons,  and  Essays  ” : 

What  we  conceive  these  schools  to  have  misprized  is  the 
living  substance  and  function  of  mind  itself,  conscious  of  its 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


215 


own  energy,  productive  of  its  own  processes,  active  even  in 
receiving,  giving  its  own  construction  to  its  incomes  from  the 
unknown  through  sense,  thus  involved  in  those  very  contents 
of  time  and  space  which,  as  historical  antecedents,  appear  to 
create  it  ; mind  is  obviously  the  exponent  of  forces  more 
spontaneous  and  original  than  any  special  product  of  its  own 
experience.  Behind  all  these  products  must  be  that  substance 
in  and  through  which  they  are  produced. 

And  again,  for  we  cannot  be  too  explicit  on  this 
point : 

It  is  certain  that  knowledge  involves  not  only  a sense  of 
union  with  the  nature  of  that  which  we  know,  but  a real  par- 
ticipation of  the  knowing  faculty  therein.  When,  therefore,  I 
have  learned  to  conceive  truths,  principles,  ideas,  or  aims 
which  transcend  life-times  and  own  no  physical  limits  to  their 
endurance,  the  aforesaid  law  of  mind  associates  me  with  their 
immortal  nature.  And  this  is  the  indubitable  perception  or 
intuition  of  permanent  mind  which  no  experience  of  imper- 
manence can  nullify  and  no  Nirvana  excludes. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Johnson  does  not 
make  himself  answerable  for  specific  articles  of  be- 
lief on  God  or  immortality,  but  confines  his  faith  to 
the  persuasion  of  indwelling  mind,  sovereign,  eter- 
nal, imperial.  “ Immortality,”  he  says,  “ is  immeas- 
urable chance  for  all.  In  its  light,  all  strong,  blame- 
less, heroic  lives — divine  plants  by  the  wayside — 
tell  for  the  nature  they  express.  God  has  made  no 
blunder  in  our  spiritual  constitution.  Power  is  in 
faith.”  This  intense  belief  in  the  soul,  in  all  the 
native  capacities  of  our  spiritual  constitution,  in  the 
supremacy  of  organic  feelings,  ideas,  expectations 


2l6 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


over  merely  private  desires,  this  burning  confidence 
in  divinely  implanted  instincts,  this  absolute  cer- 
tainty that  every  promise  made  by  God  will  be  ful- 
filled, explains  the  tone  of  exulting  hope  in  which  he 
writes  to  bereaved  friends. 

I wish  I could  tell  you  how  firmly  I believe  that  feelings 
like  these  (that  the  absent  one  cannot  be  dead),  so  often 
treated  as  illusion,  are  true,  are  of  God’s  own  tender  giving; 
that  in  them  is  the  very  heart  of  his  teaching  through  the 
mystery  that  we  call  death.  Our  affections  are  forbidden  by 
their  maker  to  doubt  their  own  immortality.  . . . Immor- 

tal years,  beside  which  our  little  lives  are  but  an  hour — what 
possibilities  of  full  satisfaction  they  open  ! And  we  sit  in 
patience,  knowing  that  they  must  bring  us  back  our  holiest 
possessions — those  which  have  ever  stood  under  the  shield  of 
our  noblest  love  and  conscience  and  so  are  under  God’s  bless- 
ing forever. 

How  far  such  a declaration  as  this  comports  with 
the  demand  for  general  immortality  made  in  behalf 
of  those  who  are  conscious  of  no  noble  love,  who 
have  attained  to  no  conscience,  and  have  no  holy 
possessions,  we  are  not  told.  Perhaps  Mr.  Johnson 
would  seize  on  the  faintest  intimations  of  mind  as 
evidencing  the  presence  of  moral  being,  as  Mr.  AVeiss 
does.  But  he  did  not  dwell  on  that  side  of  the 
problem.  Plainly  he  ascribed  little  value  to  mere 
personality,  viewed  abstractly  and  apart  from  its 
spiritual  development.  He  wrote  to  those  whom  he 
knew  and  loved,  to  remarkable  people. 

Yet  it  would  not  be  fair  to  conclude  that  immor- 
tality was  denied  to  the  basest.  If  immortality  is 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


217 


“opportunity,”  a “chance  for  all,”  it  is  for  those  who 
can  profit  by  it  or  enjoy  it.  If  any  are  debarred,  the 
cause  must  be  their  own  incompetence.  They  simply 
decease.  There  is  no  torment  in  store  for  them ; no 
hell  is  possible. 

Samuel  Johnson  was  an  enthusiastic  evolutionist, 
but  of  mind  itself,  not  of  matter  as  ripening  into 
mind.  The  ordinary  conception  of  evolution, — that 
the  higher  came  from  the  lower, — was  exceedingly 
repugnant  to  him.  Every  kind  of  materialism  he 
abhorred  as  illogical  and  irrational.  The  theories  of 
Comte, — that  “ mind  is  cerebration  ” ; of  Haeckel, — 
that  it  is  a “ function  of  brain  and  nerve  ” ; of 
Strauss, — that  “ one’s  self  is  his  body  ” ; of  Taine, — 
that  a man  is  “ a series  of  sensations,”  were  to  him 
as  absurd,  in  science  or  philosophy,  as  they  were 
fatal  to  aspiration  and  progress. 

The  crude  definition  of  evolution  as  production  of  the 
highest  by  inherent  force  of  the  lowest  is  here  supplanted  by 
one  which  recognizes  material  parentage  as  itself  involving, 
even  in  its  lowest  stages,  the  entire  cosmic  consensus , of  whose 
unknown  force  mind  is  the  highest  known  exponent. 

He  is  alluding  to  Tyndall’s  statement  that  mind  is 
evolved  from  the  universe  as  a whole,  not  from  in- 
organic matter.  For  himself,  he  says  : 

Ideas  were  not  demonstrated,  are  not  demonstrable.  No 
data  of  observation  can  express  their  universal  meaning.  . . . 
What  else  can  we  say  of  ideas  than  that  they  are  wondrous 
intimacies  of  the  soul  with  the  Infinite  and  Eternal,  its  con- 
tacts with  universal  forces,  its  prophetic  ventures  and  master 


2l8 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


steps  beyond  any  past  ! . . . The  grand  words,  “ I ought  ” 
refuse  to  be  explained  by  dissolving  the  notion  of  right  into 
individual  calculation  of  consequences,  or  by  expounding  the 
sense  of  duty  as  the  cumulative  product  of  observed  relation 
of  succession.  . . . How  explain  as  a “ greater  happiness 

principle,”  or  an  inherited  product  of  observed  consequences, 
that  sovereign  and  eternal  law  of  mind  whose  imperial  edict 
lifts  all  calculations  and  measures  into  functions  of  an  infinite 
meaning  ? And  how  vain  to  accredit  or  ascribe  to  revelation, 
institution,  or  redemption,  this  necessary  allegiance  to  the  law 
of  our  being,  which  is  liberty  and  loyalty  in  one  ? 

This  is  absolute  enough.  It  is  plain  that  to  this 
writer  the  notion  of  extracting  intellect  from  form  is 
ridiculous. 

At  the  same  time  the  method  of  evolution  is  the 
one  adopted  by  the  supreme  Mind  in  its  endeavor  to 
awaken  in  man  religious  ideas.  The  exposition  of 
the  original  faiths — Indian,  Chinese,  Persian — is  a 
long  and  eloquent  argument  for  this  thesis.  All 
criticism,  all  thinking,  all  analysis,  all  study  of  his- 
tory, all  investigation  of  phenomena,  point  in  this 
direction.  This  is  the  rule  of  creation ; this  is  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  the  universe.  The  suc- 
cessive degrees  of  this  divine  ascent,  he  maintains, 
are  distinctly  traceable  in  the  records  left  for  our 
reading.  The  threads  are  fine,  of  course,  but  what 
have  we  eyes  for  ? It  is  not  necessary  that  every- 
body should  see  them,  and  the  few  who  can  are 
amply  rewarded  for  the  trouble  they  take  in  putting 
their  fingers  upon  the  very  lines  of  the  heavenly 
procedure.  His  peculiar  strain  of  genius  admirably 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


219 


qualified  him  for  this  delicate  task.  It  was  serious, 
critical,  earnest,  and  aspiring.  At  one  period  of  his 
life  he  was  a mystic,  wholly  absorbed  in  God,  and 
he  always  had  that  tendency  towards  the  more 
passionate  forms  of  idealism  which  led  him  to 
mystical  speculations.  The  search  for  God  was  ever 
the  animating  purpose  of  his  endeavor.  The  law  of 
the  blessed  life  was  never  absent  from  his  thought. 
He,  all  the  time,  lived  by  faith,  and  was  naturally 
disposed  to  see  the  gain  in  all  losses.  His  mind  had 
that  penetrating  quality  which  loved  to  follow  hid- 
den trails,  and  appreciated  the  subtlest  kinds  of  in- 
fluence. In  a striking  passage  he  speaks  of  the 

great  mystery  in  these  influences  which  thoughtless  people 
little  dream  of,  and  which  common-sense,  so  called,  cares 
nothing  about.  In  the  wonderful  manner  in  which,  through 
books,  the  spirits  of  other  men,  long  since  dead,  enter  into  and 
inspire  ours  ; in  the  eloquent  language  of  eye  and  lip  which 
without  words,  merely  by  expression,  conveys  deepest  feel- 
ings ; in  the  presence  in  our  souls  of  strange  presentiments, 
intuitions  of  higher  knowledge  than  science  or  learning  can 
give,  voices  which  seem  the  presence  of  other  spirits  in  ours, 
which  make  us  feel  often  that  death,  so  far  from  removing  our 
dear  friends  from  us,  brings  them  nearer  to  our  souls  so  that 
they  cannot  be  lost  ; — in  all  these  wonderful  ways  we  see  dimly 
the  unveiling  of  holy  mysteries  which  the  future  is  to  fully 
open  to  us,  mysteries  which  we  can  even  now,  in  our  sublimer 
and  holier  secret  moments,  feel  trying  to  disclose  themselves 
to  us. 

This  was  written  in  a letter  to  his  sister,  on  the 
occasion  of  a visit  to  the  menagerie  to  see  Herr 


220 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Driesbach,  the  borse-tamer.  A man  who  could 
spring  into  the  empyrean  from  such  ground  may  be 
trusted  to  behold  Deity  wdiere  others  behold  nothing 
but  dirt  ; and  they  who  submit  to  his  guidance  are 
pretty  certain  to  come  out  full  believers  in  the 
spiritual  powers. 

Johnson  absolutely  subordinated  dogma  to  prac- 
tice, holding  fast  to  the  idea  involved  in  the  declara- 
tion that  he  who  doetli  the  will  shall  know  the 
doctrine.  He  began  with  the  ethics  of  the  indi- 
vidual, the  family,  the  social  circle,  seeing  every 
principle  incarnated  there.  How  faithful  he  was  in 
all  domestic  relations  the  world  will  never  know, 
for  there  are  details  that  cannot  be  divulged.  But 
in  all  public  affairs  his  constancy  was  perfect.  Dr. 
Furness  of  Philadelphia  used  to  say  that  the  anti- 
slavery struggle  in  this  country  taught  him  more  about 
the  essential  nature  of  the  Gospel  than  he  had  learned 
in  any  other  way.  Samuel  Johnson  had  the  same  con- 
viction. In  a private  letter  written  in  1857  he  says  : 

Everything  in  this  crisis  of  American  growth  centres  in  the 
great  conflict  about  this  gigantic  sin  of  slavery.  That  is  the 
battle-field  on  which  the  questions  are  all  to  be  fought  out,  of 
moral  and  spiritual  and  intellectual  Freedom  against  the 
Absolutism  of  sect  and  party  ; of  Love  against  Mammon  ; of 
Conscience  against  the  State  ; of  Man  against  Majorities ; of 
Truth  against  Policy  ; of  God  against  the  Devil.  It  is  really 
astonishing  how  everything  that  happens  with  us  works  di- 
rectly into  this  fermenting  conflict. 

They  who  remember  his  addresses  during  the  war 
will  not  need  any  confirmation  of  this  announcement, 


MY  COMPANIONS. 


221 


and  they  who  heard  or  have  read  his  sermon  on  the 
character  and  services  of  Charles  Sumner  will  have 
the  fullest  assurance  of  the  cordial  appreciation  with 
which  every  phase  of  the  struggle  was  entered  into. 

But  though  so  ardent  a follower  of  the  doctrine 
that  ideas  lead  the  world,  Johnson  was  not  induced 
to  go  all  lengths  with  the  sentimentalists.  While 
warmly  espousing  the  cause  of  the  workingman  his 
papers  on  “ Labor  Reform  ” show  how  keenly  critical 
he  could  be  of  measures  proposed  for  his  benefit. 
No  one  will  accuse  him  of  indifference  to  the  claims 
of  woman,  but  he  spoke  of  “ Woman’s  Opportunity” 
rather  than  of  “ Woman’s  Rights  is  inclined  to 
think  that  it  is  not  true  that  she  is  left  out  of  politi- 
cal life  from  the  present  wish  to  do  her  injustice  ; that 
“ on  the  whole,  the  feeling,  if  it  were  analyzed,  would 
be  found  to  be  rather  that  of  defending  her  right  of 
exemption,  relieving  her  from  tasks  she  does  not 
desire.  . . . Among  intelligent  men  at  least, 

actual  delay  to  wipe  out  the  anomaly  of  the  voting 
rule  is  not  so  much  owing  to  a spirit  of  domination 
or  contempt  as  is  too  apt  to  be  assumed,  as  it  is  to  a 
respect  for  what  woman  has  made  of  the  functions 
she  has  hitherto  filled,  and  the  belief  that  she  holds 
herself  entitled  to  be  left  free  to  work  through  them 
alone.”  He  has  nothing  to  say  regarding  the  superi- 
ority of  woman’s  nature ; ventures  no  definition  of 
her  sphere ; is  not  unconscious  of  feminine  infirmi- 
ties ; doubts  the  efficacy  of  the  ballot ; confesses 
that  the  level  of  womanhood  would  be,  at  least  tern- 


222 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


porarily,  depressed  by  the  larger  area  of  practical 
diffusion  ; is  by  no  means  certain  that  women  would 
necessarily  act  for  their  own  good,  and  is  deeply 
persuaded  of  the  inferiority  of  outward  to  inward 
influence.  This  is  the  one  thing  he  is  sure  of ; this 
and  the  principle  that  “liberty  knows — like  faith 
and  charity — neither  male  nor  female.”  In  the  war 
between  Russia  and  Turkey  he  took  the  part  of 
Turkey,  not  only  because  he  respected  the  rights  of 
individual  genius  and  resented  invasion,  but  for  the 
reason  that  he  distrusted  the  civilizing  tendencies  of 
Russia,  and  thought  the  interests  of  Europe  might 
be  trusted  to  the  Ottoman  as  confidently  as  to  the 
Russian.  In  a discourse  entitled  “A  Ministry  in 
Free  Religion,”  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  his 
resigning  the  relation  of  pastor  to  the  “Free  Church 
at  Lynn,”  June  26,  1870,  he  said  : 

The  pulpit  has  no  function  more  essential  than  an  indepen- 
dent criticism  of  well-meaning  people  in  the  light  of  larger 
justice  and  remoter  consequences  than  most  popular  measures 
recognize.  The  truest  service  is,  perhaps,  to  help  correct  the 
blunders  and  the  intolerances  of  blind  good-will  and  narrow 
zeal  for  a good  cause  ; to  speak  in  the  interest  of  an  idea  where 
popular  or  organized  impulse  threatens  to  swamp  its  higher 
morality  in  passionate  instincts  and  absolute  masterships,  to 
maintain  that  freedom  of  private  judgment  which  cannot  be 
outraged,  even  in  the  best  moral  intent,  without  mischievous 
reaction  on  the  good  cause  itself. 

In  this  couuection  he  speaks  of  temperance,  the 
amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the  “ perishing  ” or 
“dangerous”  classes,  the  various  schemes  for  bene- 


MY  COMPANION S. 


223 


fating  the  laboring  men,  plans  for  adjusting  the  rela- 
tions of  labor  and  capital,  arrangements  for  diffus- 
ing the  profits  of  production, — causes  which  he  had 
at  heart,  but  which  should  be  discussed  in  view  of 
the  principle  of  individual  freedom,  which  must  be 
upheld  at  all  hazards.  He  was  a close  reasoner  as 
well  as  a warm  feeler,  and  would  not  allow  his  sym- 
pathies to  get  the  upper  hand  of  his  ideas.  He 
hoped  for  the  best ; he  had  faith  in  the  highest ; he 
anticipated  the  brightest ; but  he  tried  to  see  things 
as  they  were.  He  was  a student,  not  a sentimental- 
ist, and  while  he  was  ready  to  follow  the  most  ad- 
vanced in  the  direction  of  spiritual  progress,  he  was 
not  prepared  to  take  for  granted  issues  that  still 
hung  in  the  balance  of  debate,  or  to  prejudge  ques- 
tions that  had  not  been  answered,  and  could  not  be 
as  yet. 

Such  moderation  and  patience  are  not  common 
with  reformers,  and  few  are  independent  enough  to 
confess  lniswivino-s  which  are  more  familiar  to  their 

O O 

opponents  than  to  their  friends.  Candor  like  this 
shows  a genuine  unconsciousness  of  fear,  a sincere 
love  of  truth,  an  earnest  postponement  of  personal 
tastes,  ambitions,  and  connections  to  the  axioms  of 
universal  wisdom  and  goodness;  a loyalty  to  con- 
viction that  is  very  rare,  that  never  can  exist  among 
the  indifferent,  because  they  do  not  care,  and  which 
is  usually  put  aside  by  those  who  do  care  as  an  im- 
pediment if  not  as  a snare.  In  courage  of  this  noble 
kind,  Johnson  excelled  all  men  I ever  knew,  for  they 


224 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


wlio  had  it,  as  some  did,  had  not  his  genius,  and 
were  spared  the  necessity  of  curbing  ardor  by  so 
much  as  their  temperament  was  more  passive  and 
their  eagerness  less  importunate.  Of  course  of  the 
lower  sort, — the  courage  to  bear  pain,  loss,  the  mis- 
understanding of  the  vulgar,  to  face  danger,  to  en- 
counter peril,  none  who  knew  him  can  question  his 
possession.  In  fact,  he  did  not  seem  to  sutler  at  all, 
so  jocund  was  he,  so  much  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
his  deprivations  from  the  outside  world ; even  his 
intimates  could  but  suspect  his  sorrows  of  heart. 

Samuel  Johnson  was  an  extraordinary  person  to 
look  at.  He  had  large  dark  eyes ; black,  straight, 
long  hair ; an  Oriental  complexion,  sallow,  olive- 
colored  ; an  impetuous  manner  ; a beaming  expres- 
sion. His  voice  was  rich,  deep,  musical ; his  gait 
eager,  rapid,  swinging  ; his  style  of  address  glow- 
ing ; his  aspect  in  public  speech  that  of  one  inspired. 
He  was  fond  of  natural  beauty,  of  art,  literature, 
music ; full  of  fun,  witty,  mirthful,  social.  He  was 
attractive  to  young  people,  delightful  in  conversa- 
tion, ready  to  enter  into  innocent  amusements.  His 
eye  for  scenery  was  fine  and  quick,  his  interest  in 
practical  science  sincere  and  hearty,  his  concern  for 
whatever  advanced  humanity  cordial,  and  his  fresh- 
ness of  spirit  increased  if  anything  with  years. 


XIV. 


MY  FRIENDS. 

It  is  impossible  to  mention  them  all,  and  to  single 
out  a few  from  a multitude  must  not  be  done.  I 
should  like  to  commemorate  those  who  came  nearest 
to  me  by  their  earnest  work  and  faithful  allegiance, 
but  these  cannot  be  spoken  of,  and  I prefer  to  enu- 
merate some  of  those  with  whom  I was  less  intimate. 

Alice  and  Phoebe  Cary  came  to  Xew  York  in  1852, 
and  were  prominent  when  I was  there ; their  famous 
Sunday  evenings,  which  were  frequented  by  the 
brightest  minds  and  were  sought  by  a large  class  of 
people,  being  then  well  established.  These  were 
altogether  informal  and  gave  but  little  satisfaction 
to  the  merely  fashionable  folks  who  now  and  then  at- 
tended them.  The  sisters  were  in  striking  contrast. 
Phoebe,  the  younger,  wTas  a jocund,  hearty,  vivacious, 
witty,  merry  young  woman,  short  and  round ; her 
older  sister,  Alice,  was  taller  and  more  slender,  with 
large,  dark  eyes;  she  was  meditative,  thoughtful, 
pensive,  and  rather  grave  in  temperament ; but  the 
two  were  most  heartily  in  sympathy  in  every  opinion 
and  in  all  their  literary  and  social  aims.  Horace 


15 


225 


226 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Greeley,  one  of  their  earliest  and  warmest  friends, 
was  a frequent  visitor  at  their  house.  There  I met 
Robert  Dale  Owen,  Oliver  Johnson,  Dr.  E.  H.  Cha- 
pin, Rev.  Charles  F.  Deems,  Justin  McCarthy  and 
his  wife,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Dodge,  Madame  Le  Vert,  and 
several  others. 

Among  my  friends  was  President  Barnard,  of 
Columbia  College,  the  only  man  I ever  knew  whose 
long  ear-trumpet  was  never  an  annoyance ; Ogden 
N.  Rood,  the  Professor  of  Physics  at  Columbia,  a 
man  of  real  genius,  whose  studies  in  light  and 
color  were  a great  assistance  to  artists,  himself 
an  artist  of  no  mean  order  and  an  ardent  student 
of  photography ; Charles  Joy,  Professor  of  Chem- 
istry, a most  active-mi uded  man,  who  received  hon- 
ors at  Goettingen  and  at  Paris,  and  contributed 
largely  to  the  scientific  journals;  a man  greatly 
interested  in  the  union  of  charitable  societies  in 
New  York ; Robert  Carter,  then  a co-worker  in  the 
making  of  Appleton’s  Cyclopedia;  Bayard  Taylor, 
novelist,  poet,  translator  of  Goethe,  traveller ; Rich- 
ard Grant  White,  the  Shakesperian  scholar ; Charles 
L.  Brace,  the  philanthropist;  E.  L.  Youmans  a man 
fairly  tingling  with  ideas,  and  peculiarly  gifted  in 
making  popular,  as  a lecturer,  the  most  abstruse 
scientific  discoveries.  The  breadth  of  my  range  of 
acquaintances  is  illustrated  by  such  men  as  Roswell 
D.  Hitchcock,  of  Union  Seminary,  the  learned  stu- 
dent, the  impressive  speaker ; Isaac  T.  Hecker,  the 
founder  of  the  Couoreo;ation  of  the  Paulists : Dr. 

O O J 


MY  FRIENDS. 


227 

Washburn,  the  model  churchman  of  “ Calvary  ” ; 
Henry  M.  Field,  editor  of  the  Evangelist , a most 
warm-hearted  man,  so  large  in  his  sympathies  that 
he  could  say  to  Robert  G.  Xngersoll,  “X  am  glad 
that  I know  you,  even  though  some  of  my  brethren 
look  upon  you  as  a monster  because  of  your  un- 
belief,” and  welcomed  as  an  example  of  “ constructive 
thought,”  Dr.  Charles  A.  Briggs’  Inaugural  Address 
as  Professor  of  Biblical  Theology  at  Union  College ; 
John  G.  Holland  (Timothy  Titcomb),  a copious  au-' 
thor.  The  Tribune  company  was  most  distinguished  : 
There  was,  first  of  all,  the  founder,  Horace  Greeley, 
a unique  personality,  simple,  unaffected,  earnest,  an: 
immense  believer  in  American  institutions,  a stanch 
friend  of  the  working-man,  and  a brave  lover  of  im- 
impartial  justice ; Whitelaw  Reid,  who  was,  accord- 
ing to  George  Ripley,  the  ablest  newspaper  manager 
he  ever  saw ; and  Mrs.  Lucia  Calhoun  (afterward ; 
Mrs.  Runkle),  one  of  the  most  brilliant  contributors 
to  the  Tribune.  Of  George  Ripley  I may  speak : 
more  at  length,  as  he  was  my  parishioner  and  close 
friend.  I11  my  biography  of  him,  written  for  the 
“American  Men  of  Letters”  series,  X spoke  of  him 
as  a “remarkable”  man.  One  of  my  critics  found' 
fault  with  the  appellation,  and  said  it  was  not  justi- 
fied by  anything  in  the  book,  as  perhaps  it  was  not, 
though  intellectual  vigor,  range,  and  taste  like  his 
must  be  called  “ remarkable  ” ; such  industry  is 
“remarkable”;  no  common  man  could  have  insti- 
tuted “Brook  Farm”  and  administered  it  for  six  or 


228 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


seven  years ; could  have  maintained  its  dignity 
through  ridicule,  misunderstanding,  and  fanaticism  ; 
could  have  cleared  off  its  liabilities;  could  have 
turned  his  face  away  from  it  on  its  failure,  with 
such  patience,  or  in  his  later  age,  could  have  alluded 
to  it  so  sweetly;  no  ordinary  person  could  have 
adopted  a new  and  despised  career  so  bravely  as  he 
did.  No  journalist  has  raised  literature  to  so  high  a 
distinction,  or  derived  such  large  rewards  for  that 
mental  labor.  He  deserves  to  be  called  “ remark- 
able,” who  can  do  all  this  or  but  a part  of  it,  and, 
all  the  time,  preserve  the  sunny  serenity  of  his  dis- 
position. If  the  biography  failed  to  present  these 
traits  it  was,  indeed,  unsuccessful.  Yes,  Mr.  Ripley 
was  an  extraordinary  man.  It  is  seldom  that  one 
carries  such  qualities  to  such  a degree  of  perfection, 
and  it  may  be  worth  wThile  to  look  more  closely  at 
his  character. 

George  Ripley  had  a passion  for  literary  excel- 
lence. From  his  boyhood  he  possessed  a singularly 
bright  intelligence,  a clear  appreciation  of  the  ra- 
tional aspect  of  questions.  He  was  not  an  ardent, 
passionate,  enthusiastic  man,  of  warm  convictions, 
vehement  emotions,  burning  ideas.  His  feelings, 
though  amiable  and  correct,  were  of  an  intellectual 
cast.  They  sprang  from  a naturally  affectionate 
heart,  rather  than  from  a deeply  stirred  conscience, 
or  an  enchanted  soul.  If  he  had  been  less  healthy, 
eupeptic,  he  would  scarcely  have  been  so  gay;  a 
vehement  reformer  he  was  not ; a leader  of  men  he 


MY  FRIENDS. 


229 


could  not  be.  He  bad  not  the  stuff  in  bim  for 
either.  Tbe  element  of  giving  was  not  strong  in 
bim.  He  was  not  an  originator  in  tbe  sphere  of 
thought : not  a discoverer  of  theories  or  facts ; not 
an  innovator  on  established  customs.  But  men- 
tally be  was  so  quick,  eager,  receptive,  that  he 
seemed  a pioneer,  an  enthusiast,  a saint ; bis  quick- 
ness passing  for  insight,  bis  eagerness  for  a pas- 
sionate love  of  progress,  bis  receptivity  for  chari- 
tableness. He  appeared  to  be  more  of  an  image- 
breaker  than  be  really  was.  In  fact,  tbe  propensity 
to  iconoclasm  was  not  part  of  bis  constitution.  But 
bis  mind  was  wonderfully  alert.  He  bad  bis  antipa- 
thies, and  they  were  strong  ones,  bis  likes  and 
dislikes,  bis  tastes  and  distastes,  but  these  were  in- 
stinctive rather  than  tbe  expression  of  rational  prin- 
ciple or  a deliberate  conclusion  of  bis  judgment.  In 
one  instance  that  I know  of,  be  threw  off  a man 
with  whom  be  bad  been  associated  for  many  years, 
and  in  connection  with  whom  be  labored  daily  for 
a time,  a very  accomplished  and  agreeable  person 
to  whom  be  was  indebted  for  some  services,  because 
be  thought  that  tbe  individual  in  question  bad  been 
unjust  to  some  of  bis  friends;  but  that  this  was  not 
entirely  a matter  of  conscience  would  seem  to  be 
indicated  by  tbe  fact  that  be  sent  a message  of  affec- 
tion to  this  man,  as  be  neared  tbe  grave.  In  tbe 
main,  so  far  as  be  was  under  control,  intellectual 
considerations  determined  bis  course.  He  was  pre- 
vailingly under  tbe  influence  of  mind ; be  acted  in 


230 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


-view,  a large  view,  of  all  the  circumstances;  as  one 
,who  takes  in  the  whole  situation,  and  has  himself 
under  command.  This  is  not  said  in  the  least  tone 
of  disparagement,  but  entirely  in  his  praise,  for  the 
supremacy  of  reason  is  more  steady,  even,  reliable 
than  the  supremacy  of  feeling  however  exalted  in 
its  mood.  He  that  is  under  the  control  of  mind  is 
at  all  times  under  control , which  cannot  be  said  of 
one  who  is  borne  along  by  the  sway  of  even  devout 
emotion.  I have  in  memory  cases  where  passion 
might  have  betrayed  Mr.  Ripley  into  conduct  he 
would  have  regretted,  had  it  not  been  for  the  re- 
straining power  of  purely  rational  considerations. 
Idis  early  religious  training  may  have  produced  some 
effect  on  his  character,  but  this  is  more  likely  to 
have  operated  at  first  than  at  the  later  stages  of  his 
career.  The  love  of  old  hymns,  the  habit  of  attend- 
ing sacred  services,  the  fondness  for  Watts’  poems, 
a copy  of  whose  holy  songs  always  lay  on  his  table, 
•showed  a lingering;  attachment  to  this  kind  of  senti- 
ment  up  to  the  end  of  his  life ; but  it  existed  in  an 
attenuated  form,  and  at  no  period  after  his  youth 
exerted  much  swray  over  him.  His  predominating 
bent  was  intellectual,  and  this  caused  a certain  deli- 
cacy, fastidiousness,  aloofness,  wThich  kept  him  in 
the  atmosphere  of  love  as  wrell  as  of  light. 

From  his  youth  this  wTas  his  leading  character- 
istic. As  a boy  he  was  ambitious  of  making  a dic- 
tionary, a sign  of  his  carefulness  in  the  use  of  words, 
and  an  omen  of  the  value  he  wTas  to  set  on  defini- 


MY  FRIENDS. 


231 


tions  and  on  exactness  in  the  employment  of  lan- 
guage. At  school  he  was  an  excellent  scholar,  at 
college  he  stood  second,  but  was  graduated  first 
owing  to  the  “ suspension  ” of  a brilliant  classmate 
who  might  have  excelled  him  but  for  the  mishap 
of  a college  “ riot  ” in  which  he  took  part.  In  the 
languages  and  in  literature  he  was  unusually  pro- 
ficient, while  in  mathematics, — that  most  abstract, 
severe,  precise  of  pursuits, — his  success  was  distin- 
guished. In  later-life  his  devotion  to  philosophy 
marked  the  man  of  speculative  tastes.  His  early 
letters  to  his  father,  mother,  sister,  reveal  a con- 
sciousness of  his  own  peculiarities.  Here  are  ex- 
tracts : 

The  course  of  studies  adopted  here  [Cambridge],  in  the 
opinion  of  competent  judges,  is  singularly  calculated  to  form 
scholars,  and  moreover,  correct  and  accurate  scholars  ; to 
inure  the  mind  to  profound  thought  and  habits  of  investi- 
gation and  reasoning. 

The  prospect  of  devoting  my  days  to  the  acquisition  and 
communication  of  knowledge  is  bright  and  cheering.  This 
employment  I would  not  exchange  for  the  most  elevated 
situation  of  wealth  or  power.  One  of  the  happiest  steps,  I 
think,  that  I have  ever  taken  was  the  commencement  of  a 
course  of  study,  and  it  is  my  wish  and  effort  that  my  future 
progress  may  give  substantial  evidence  of  it. 

I know  that  my  peculiar  habits  of  mind,  imperfect  as  they 
are,  strongly  impel  me  to  the  path  of  active  intellectual  effort  ; 
and  if  I am  to  be  at  any  time  of  any  use  to  society,  or  a satis- 
faction to  myself  or  my  friends,  it  will  be  in  the  way  of  some 
retired  literary  situation,  where  a fondness  for  study  and  a 
knowledge  of  books  will  be  more  requisite  than  the  busy,  cal- 
culating mind  of  a man  in  the  business  part  of  the  community.' 


232 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


I do  not  mean  by  this  that  any  profession  is  desired  but  the 
one  to  which  I have  been  long  looking.  My  wish  is  only  to 
enter  that  profession  with  all  the  enlargement  of  mind  and 
extent  of  information  which  the  best  institutions  can  afford. 

These  quotations  are  enough  to  show  what  was 
the  prevailing  impulse  of  the  man.  An  intellectual 
nature  like  this,  calm,  studious,  accomplished,  eager, 
is  subject  to  few  surprises  and  experiences  rarely, 
if  ever,  marked  by  crises,  cataclysms,  eruptions,  in 
passing  from  one  condition  of  thought  to  another  at 
the  opposite  extreme  of  the  spiritual  universe.  A 
process  of  growth,  gradual,  easy,  motionless,  takes 
the  place  of  commotion  and  violent  uproar  such  as 
passionate  temperaments  are  exposed  to.  In  1821 
he  writes  to  his  sister  from  Harvard  Colleo;e : “ TVe 
are  now  studying  Locke,  an  author  who  has  done 
more  to  form  the  mind  to  habits  of  accurate  reason- 
ing and  sound  thought  than  almost  any  other.”  On 
the  19th  of  September,  1836,  the  first  meeting  of 
the  Transcendental  Club  was  held  at  his  house  in 
Boston.  In  1838  he  replied  to  Andrews  Norton’s 
criticism  of  Mr.  Emerson’s  Address  before  the 
Alumni  of  the  Cambridge  Divinity  School.  In 
1840  he  said  to  his  cono;re£ation  in  Purchase  Street : 

There  is  a faculty  in  all — the  most  degraded,  the  most 
ignorant,  the  most  obscure — to  perceive  spiritual  truth  when 
distinctly  presented  ; and  the  ultimate  appeal  on  all  moral 
questions  is  not  to  a jury  of  scholars,  a conclave  of  divines, 
or  the  prescriptions  of  a creed,  but  to  the  common-sense  of 
the  human  race. 


MY  FRIENDS. 


233 


But  this  substitution  of  the  intuitive  for  the 
sensational  philosophy — a change  which  affected  all 
the  processes  of  his  thought  and  actually  caused  a 
revolution  in  his  mind — was  made  silently,  quietly, 
without  agitation,  without  triumph,  in  a sober,  con- 
servative manner,  very  different  from  that  of  his 
friend  Theodore  Parker,  who  carried  the  same  doc- 
trines a good  deal  further,  and  advocated  them  with 
more  heat  like  the  burly  reformer  he  was. 

In  religion,  Mr.  Ripley’s  position  was  the  same 
that  it  was  in  philosophy.  In  fact  the  intellectual 
side  of  religion  interested  him  more  than  the  spir- 
itual or  experimental  side.  It  was  mainly  a specu- 
lative matter,  where  it  was  not  speculative  it  was 
practical ; in  each  event  it  concerned  the  head 
rather  than  the  heart,  as  being  an  opinion  rather 
than  a feeling.  He  was  instructed  in  the  school  of 
orthodoxy,  and,  as  a youth,  was  strict  in  his  alle- 
giance to  the  old  system  of  belief ; but  he  became  a 
disciple  of  Dr.  Channing,  and  later  a rationalist  of 
the  order  of  Theodore  Parker,  a friend  of  Emerson, 
an  adherent  of  what  was  newest  in  theology.  Yet, 
in  this  extreme  departure  from  the  views  of  his 
early  years,  he  betrayed  no  sign  of  agitation,  no 
trace  of  internal  suffering.  He  wished  to  go  to 
Yale  instead  of  Harvard,  because  “the  temptations 
incident  to  a college,  we  have  reason  to  think,  are 
less  at  Yale  than  at  Cambridge.”  He  preferred 
Andover  to  Cambridge,  being  “convinced  that  the 
opportunities  for  close  investigation  of  the  Scrip- 


234 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


tures  are  superior  to  those  at  Cambridge,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  place,  much  relaxed  from  its  former 
severe  and  gloomy  bigotry  is  more  favorable  to  a 
tone  of  decided  piety.”  Still,  he  goes  to  Cam- 
bridge, is  “ much  disappointed  in  what  he  had 
learned  of  the  religious  character  of  the  school,” 
and,  on  more  intimate  acquaintance  is  impressed  by 
“ the  depth  and  purity  of  their  religious  feeling  and 
the  holy  simplicity  of  their  lives  ” ; “ enough  to 
humble  and  shame  those  who  had  been  long  pro- 
fessors of  Christianity,  and  had  pretended  to  supe- 
rior sanctity.”  In  1824  a bold  article  in  the  Chris- 
tian Disciple,  a Unitarian  journal,  the  precursor  of 
the  Christian  Examiner , excited  a good  deal  of 
comment,  not  to  say  apprehension.  He  writes  to 
his  sister  about  it  as  follows : 

You  asked  me  to  say  something  about  the  article  in  the 
Disciple.  For  myself,  I freely  confess  that  I think  it  a useful 
thing  and  correct.  The  vigor  of  my  orthodoxy,  which  is 
commonly  pretty  susceptible,  was  not  offended.  Now,  if  you 
have  any  objections  Avhich  you  can  accurately  and  definitely 
state,  no  doubt  there  is  something  in  it  which  had  escaped 
my  notice.  If  your  dislike  is  only  a misty,  uncertain  feeling 
about  something,  you  know  not  what,  it  were  well  to  get 
fairly  rid  of  it  by  the  best  means. 

The  same  year  he  writes  to  his  mother : 

I am  no  partisan  of  any  sect,  but  I must  rejoice  in  seeing 
any  progress  towards  the  conviction  that  Christianity  is  in- 
deed “ glad  tidings  of  great  joy,”  and  that  in  its  original  purity 
it  was  a very  different  thing  from  the  system  that  is  popu- 
larly preached,  and  which  is  still  received  as  reasonable  and 


MY  FRIENDS. 


235 


scriptural  by  men  and  women,  who  in  other  respects  are  sen- 
sible and  correct  in  their  judgments.  When  shall  we  learn 
that  without  the  spirit  of  Christ  we  are  none  of  us  His  ? 
I trust  I am  not  becoming  a partisan  or  a bigot.  I have  suf- 
fered enough,  and  too  much,  in  sustaining  those  characters, 
in  earlier,  more  inexperienced,  and  more  ignorant  years  ; but 
I have  no  prospects  of  earthly  happiness  more  inviting  than 
that  of  preaching  the  truth,  with  the  humble  hope  of  impres- 
sing it  on  the  mind  with  greater  force,  purity,  and  effect  than 
I could  do  with  any  other  than  my  present  conviction. 

In  1840  the  ministry  was  abandoned  forever,  for 
more  secular  pursuits.  After  1849  his  activities 
were  wholly  literary ; he  had  no  connection  with 
theology,  and  none  who  did  not  know  his  past  sus- 
pected that  he  had  once  been  a clergyman. 

The  same  cast  of  thought,  not  “ pale  ” in  his  case, 
suffused  his  action  at  Brook  Farm  and  made  a 
Utopia  quiet,  calm,  dignified,  pervaded  by  the  radi- 
ance of  mind,  the  gentle  enthusiasm  of  the  intellect. 
The  heat  came  in  the  main  from  other  sources.  He 
was  receptive  rather  than  original,  inflammable 
rather  than  fiery,  brilliant  rather  than  warm.  The 
heat  was  supplied  by  those  near  him,  by  those  he 
trusted,  and  by  those  he  loved.  Not  that  he  was 
deficient  in  concern  for  society ; far  from  it ; but 
his  interest  was  more  philosophical  than  philan- 
thropic. The  subject  of  an  association  that  should 
combine  intellectual  and  mechanical  labor  and  should 
diminish  the  distance  between  the  tiller  of  the  ground 
and  the  educator  was  agitated  among  the  thinkers 
he  was  intimate  with.  Dr.  Channing  had  such  a 


2}6  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

project  at  heart.  Mrs.  Ripley  burned  with  humane 
anticipations.  Plans  for  social  regeneration  were  in 
the  air.  It  was  impossible  for  one  who  lived  in  the 
midst  of  ardent  spirits,  or  was  sensitive  to  fine  im- 
pressions, or  was  cultivated  in  an  ideal  wisdom  that 
was  not  of  this  world,  to  escape  the  contagion  of 
this  kind  of  optimism ; Emerson  was  saved  by  his 
belief  in  individual  growth;  Parker  by  his  steady 
common-sense ; others  were  protected  by  their  con- 
servatism of  temperament  or  of  associatipn,  by  their 
want  of  courage,  or  their  want  of  faith ; but  men 
and  women  of  ideal  propensities,  like  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  W.  H.  Channing,  J.  S.  Dwight,  joined 
the  community,  which  promised  a new  era  for 
Humanity.  * Mr.  Ripley  would  probably  have  left 
the  ministry  at  any  rate,  for  it  had  become  distaste- 
ful to  him,  but  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have 
undertaken  the  management  of  Brook  Farm  unless 
he  had  been  assured  of  its  success ; for  he  was  a 
New  England  youth  by  birth  and  by  disposition, 
prudent,  careful,  thrifty;  his  very  enthusiasm  was 
of  the  New  England  type,  the  product  of  theological 
ideas,  a creation  of  the  gospels,  a desire  to  introduce 
the  “ Kingdom  of  Heaven,”  a continuance  of  the 
prophetic  calling.  New  England  is  as  noted  for  its 
fanaticism  as  it  is  for  its  theology.  Its  fanaticism 
is  the  offspring  of  its  theology,  and  in  proportion  as 
its  theology  disappears  its  fanaticism  decreases.  In 
Mr.  Ripley’s  case  the  theology  had  reached  very 
near  to  its  last  attenuation  and  the  fanaticism  had 


MY  FRIENDS. 


237 


tapered  off  into  a gentle  enthusiasm.  He  undertook 
to  establish  a kingdom  of  heaven  on  earth  because  ^ 

he  had  given  up  the  expectation  of  a kingdom  of 
heaven  in  the  skies ; and  he  undertook  to  establish 
a kingdom  of  heaven  on  earth  by  rational,  economic 
means,  not  by  religious  interventions.  He  was  sub- 
ject to  that  peculiar  kind  of  excitement  that  comes 
to  a few  people  in  connection  with  the  keen  exercise 
of  their  intellectual  powers,  when  they  have  laid 
hold  of  what  seems  to  them  a principle — an  excite- 
ment that  is  easily  mistaken  for  moral  earnestness 
even  by  one  who  is  under  its  influence,  which,  in- 
deed, lies  so  close  to  moral  earnestness  as  to  feel 
quickly  the  effect  of  moral  earnestness  in  others, 
notwithstanding  the  checks  applied  by  practical 
wisdom.  Mr.  Ripley  had  struck  on  a theory  of 
society,  which  at  that  time  was  passing  from  the 
phase  of  feeling  into  the  phase  of  philosophy.  The 
theory  was  in  the  air ; the  most  susceptible  spirits 
were  full  of  it ; all  noble  impulses  were  in  its  favor, 
it  belonged  to  the  order  of  thought  he  had  attained  ; 
it  was  native  to  the  aspirations  that  inflamed  the 
men  and  women  with  whom  he  was  most  intimate ; 
their  feelings  awoke  his  intellect,  and  he  was  car- 
ried away  by  a stream  whereof  he  appeared  to  him- 
self to  be  a tributary  and  whereof  he  appeared  to 
others  as  the  main  current,  on  account  of  his  im- 
petuosity, and  the  vigor  with  which  he  proceeded  to 
put  the  idea  into  practice.  In  his  own  mind  he 
was  realizing  the  dream  of  the  New  Testament,  but, 


238  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  LMPRESSLONS. 

in  fact,  he  was  testing  a principle  of  which  the  New 
Testament  was  quite  unconscious,  the  modern  prin- 
ciple of  the  equal  destinies  of  all  men.  He  had 
abandoned  the  New  Testament  ground  of  allegiance 
to  Jehovah,  and  had  adopted  the  human  ground  of 
fidelity  to  social  law.  He  was  still  under  the  spell 
of  religious  emotions,  but  they  had  become  merged 
in  the  abstractions  of  rationalism  and  merely  lent 
an  added  glow  to  his  ideas,  so  that  he  could  readily 
imagine  that  he  was  actuated  by  spiritual  convic- 
tions when,  in  fact,  he  was  doing  duty  as  a disciple 
of  socialist  philosophers.  His  own  interest  in  Brook 
Farm  was  in  the  main  speculative,  though  through 
his  personal  sympathies  lie  was  moved  toward  an 
enterprise  that  had  moral  ends  in  view. 

Once  embarked  in  it,  he  gave  his  whole  mind  to 
its  accomplishment, — all  his  industry,  all  his  organiz- 
ing talent,  all  his  high  sense  of  duty.  He  worked 
day  and  night ; he  wrote  letters  ; he  answered  inqui- 
ries ; he  mastered  the  science  of  agriculture  ; he  did 
the  labor  of  a practical  farmer ; he  maintained  the 
supervision  of  the  strange  family  that  gathered 
about  him.  Very  remarkable  was  his  success  in 
keeping  the  intellectual  side  uppermost,  in  keeping 
clear  of  the  temptations  to  give  way  to  instinctive 
leanings.  His  associations  were  with  books  and 
study  and  bright  people.  He  brought  the  most 
brilliant  men  and  women  of  the  day  to  the  place. 
He  awakened  the  interest  of  the  general  commu- 
nity. He  diffused  an  atmosphere  of  cheerful  hope 


MY  FRIENDS. 


239 


around  the  experiment.  It  is  easy  to  make  sport  of 
Brook  Farm ; to  laugh  at  the  odd  folks  who  came 
there ; to  ridicule  their  motives  and  actions ; to 
repeat  stories  of  extravagant  conduct ; to  tell  of  the 
eccentric  behavior  of  men  and  maidens  who  were 
right-minded  but  impulsive  ; to  follow  spontaneous- 
ness to  its  results  ; to  trace  the  course  of  unrestricted 
liberty.  Bat  it  is  not  fair  to  remember  these  things 
as  peculiarities  of  Brook  Farm,  as  incidents  of  its 
conception,  or  as  incidents  that  were  agreeable  to 
Mr.  Ripley.  He  exerted  the  whole  weight  of  his 
character  against  them.  He  watched  and  guarded. 
We  do  not  hear  of  him  in  connection  with  the  scan- 
dals, the  laxities,  or  the  frolics.  His  efforts  were 
directed  to  the  supremacy  of  ideas  over  instinct,  the 
idea  of  a regenerated  society,  something  very  differ- 
ent from  joyousness,  or  merriment,  or  the  fun  of 
having  a good  time.  He,  too,  was  gay  ; he  felt  the 
delight  of  freedom  ; but  his  gayety  was  born  of 
happy  confidence  in  the  principle  at  stake,  his  delight 
was  connected  with  the  advent  of  a new  method  of 
intercourse  among  men.  I remember  hearing  him 
once  deliver  a speech  in  Boston.  In  it  he  spoke  of 
the  “ foolishness  of  preaching/’  and  avowed  his  wil- 
lingness to  be  a pioneer  in  the  task  of  breaking  out 
a new  future  for  humanity,  a ditcher  and  delver  in 
the  work  of  constructing  the  new  building  of  God. 
He  had  the  coming  time  continually  in  view.  Others 
might  enjoy  themselves,  others  might  grow  tired  of 
waiting,  but  he  held  smiling  on  his  way,  determined 


240 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


to  carry  out  the  idea  to  the  end.  There  was  some- 
thing grand  in  the  steady  intellectual  force  with 
which  he  did  his  best  to  carry  through  a principle 
that  commanded  more  and  more  the  assent  of  his 
reason.  When  the  demonstration  of  Charles  Fourier 
was  laid  before  him,  no  argument  was  required  to 
persuade  him  to  adopt  it.  He  took  it  up  with  all 
his  energy  ; his  enthusiasm  rose  to  a higher  pitch 
than  ever ; the  rationale  of  the  movement  was  re- 
vealed to  him,  and  apparently  he  saw  for  the  first 
time  the  full  significance  of  the  scheme  he  had  been 
conducting.  The  impelling  power  of  an  intellectual 
conviction  was  never  more  splendidly  illustrated. 
Nobody  discerned  so  clearly  as  he  did  the  financial 
hopelessness  of  the  experiment.  Nobody  felt  the 
burden  of  responsibility  as  he  felt  it.  Yet  he  did 
not  flinch  for  a moment,  and  his  patient  assumption 
of  the  indebtedness  at  last  had  the  stamp  of  real 
heroism  upon  it.  His  renewal  of  the  most  painful 
traditions  of  “ Grub  Street  ” until  the  liabilities  of 
Brook  Farm  were  cleared  off  is  one  of  the  noble  his- 
tories, a history  that  cannot  be  told  in  detail  because 
of  the  modesty  which  has  left  no  record  of  toil  un- 
dergone or  duty  done.  The  old  simile  of  the  sun 
struggling  with  clouds,  and  gradually  clearing  itself 
as  the  day  wears  on,  best  illustrates  my  view  of  this 
man’s  accomplishment.  There  were  the  clouds  of 
orthodoxy  which  were  burned  away  at  Cambridge. 
Then  came  the  clouds  of  Unitarian  divinity,  which 
were  dispelled  by  the  transcendental  philosophy. 


MY  FRIENDS. 


241 


These  were  succeeded  by  the  dark  vapors  of  the 
ministry,  and  these  by  the  sentimental  philanthropy 
of  New  England  rationalism.  At  length  his  intel- 
lect broke  through  these  obscurations  and  showed 
what  it  truly  was. 

On  the  failure  of  Brook  Farm  and  the  final  dis- 
missal of  all  plans  for  creating  society  anew,  Mr. 
Ripley’s  faculties  emerged  in  their  full  strength. 
The  New  England  element  was  withdrawn.  There 
was  no  longer  thought  for  theology  or  reform,  but 
solely  for  knowledge  and  literature.  In  Boston  he 
had  taken  on  himself  every  opprobrious  epithet.  lu 
his  final  letter  to  his  congregation  he  avows  his  in- 
terest in  temperance,  anti-slavery,  peace,  the  projects 
for  breaking  down  social  distinctions ; simply,  it 
would  seem,  because  his  philosophy,  falling  in  with 
popular  sentiment,  pointed  that  way  ; for  he  was 
never  publicly  identified  with  any  of  these  causes, 
or  ranked  by  reformers  in  the  order  of  innovators. 
Indeed,  one  of  the  old  Abolitionists  told  me  that  she 
had  never  associated  him  with  the  anti-slavery  peo- 
ple, though  her  family  went  to  his  church.  In  New 
York  there  was  no  pretence  of  this  kind.  The  de- 
votion to  literature  absorbed  his  attention.  His 
democratic  concern  for  the  workingmen  continued, 
but  in  a theoretical  manner,  if  we  may  judge  from 
the  fact  that  he  took  no  part  in  domestic  or  foreign 
demonstrations,  that  he  made  no  speech,  attended  no 
meeting,  consorted  with  no  social  reformers,  did  not 
even  keep  up  his  intimacy  with  the  original  leaders 

16 


242 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


of  socialism  in  this  country.  When  the  sadness  of 
his  first  wife’s  death  was  over,  and  the  drudgery  of 
toil  was  ended,  he  was  happier  than  he  had  ever 
been.  No  time  was  wasted  ; no  talent  was  misused. 
Mental  labor  was  incessant,  but  in  performing  it 
there  was  pure  delight.  It  is  usual  to  think  of  his 
early  life  as  his  best,  and  there  were  some  who  re- 
garded him  as  an  extinct  volcano ; but  I am  of  the 
opinion  that  his  latter  years  were  his  most  character- 
istic, and  that  he  was  most  entirely  himself  when  his 
intellectual  nature  came  to  its  full  play.  In  propor- 
tion as  the  “ olden  thoughts,  the  spirit’s  pall,”  fell  off, 
he  became  peaceful  and  sweet ; his  view  backward 
and  forward  became  clear,  his  purpose  steady,  his 
will  serene.  The  past  was  distasteful  to  him  and 
he  seldom  alluded  to  it ; but  as  one  puts  his  child- 
hood and  his  age  together,  a steady  development  is 
seen  to  run  through  both.  His  could  not  be  a cloud- 
less day,  but  he  went  on  from  glory  to  glory.  His 
age  more  than  justified  the  promise  of  his  youth. 
In  his  latter  years  he  befriended  aspiring  young 
men ; he  made  literature  a power  in  America ; he 
threw  a dignity  around  toil ; he  associated  knowl- 
edge with  happiness,  and  rendered  light  and  love 
harmonious.  His  favorite  author  was  Groethe,  the 
apostle  of  culture.  His  familiarity  with  Sainte-Beuve, 
the  master  of  literary  criticism,  was  so  great,  that  on 
occasion  of  that  writer’s  decease,  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  an  account  of  him  without  recourse  to  books. 
Though  without  knowledge  of  art,  destitute  of  taste 


MY  FRIENDS. 


243 


for  music,  and  deficient  in  aesthetic  appreciation,  his 
sympathy  was  so  large  and  true  that  these  deficien- 
cies were  not  felt.  The  intellectual  sunshine  was 
shed  over  the  entire  nature,  and  the  book  was  so 
universal  that  it  seemed  to  embrace  everything. 

This  is  the  property  of  pure  mind,  rarely  seen  in 
such  perfection  of  lucidity.  Such  a mind  is  at  once 
conservative  and  radical ; conservative  as  treasur- 
ing the  past,  radical  as  anticipating  improvement  in 
the  future.  There  is  nothing  like  fanaticism,  but  a 
bright  look  in  every  direction,  a place  for  all  sorts 
of  accomplishments,  hospitality  to  each  new  inven- 
tion, a radiant  acceptance  of  all  temperaments. 
The  mind  cannot  be  superstitious,  for  it  cannot  be- 
lieve that  divine  powers  are  identified  with  material 
objects  or  occasional  accidents ; it  cannot  be  ever 
sanguine  as  those  are  who  indulge  in  abstract  visions 
of  good,  for  it  knows  that  progress  is  very  slow  and 
gradual,  and  that  the  welfare  of  mankind  is  ad- 
vanced by  the  process  of  civilization,  by  cultivation, 
acquirement,  refinement,  the  gains  of  wealth,  ele- 
gance, and  delicacy  of  taste.  It  judges  by  rational 
standards,  not  by  sentimental  feelings,  accepting 
imperfection  as  the  inevitable  condition  of  human 
affairs  and  bounded  characters.  It  is  not  exposed 
to  the  convulsions  that  accompany  even  the  most 
exalted  moods,  but  calmly  labors  and  quietly  hopes 
for  the  future. 

I do  not  say  that  George  Ripley  was  such  a mind, 
merely  that  his  tendency  was  in  that  direction.  He 


244 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


was  limited  by  traditions ; lie  bad  too  many  preju- 
dices. The  axioms  of  the  transcendental  philosophy 
clung  to  him.  The  shreds  of  religion  hung  about 
him.  He  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  ancient 
clerical  memories  and  ways,  nor  wholly  throw  off 
the  mantle  of  personal  sympathy  he  had  so  long 
worn.  He  was  not  completely  secular. 

That  he  was  a perfect  man  is  less  evident  still. 
His  sunny  quality  was  due  in  some  degree  to  a 
happy  temperament,  and  was  subject  to  the  eclipses 
that  darken  the  blandest  natures,  and  render  sombre 
the  most  hilarious  spirits.  He  lacked  the  steadfast 
courage  of  conviction,  was  somewhat  over-prudent 
and  timid,  afraid  of  pain,  of  popular  disapproval,  of 
criticism  and  opposition.  This  may  have  been  due 
in  part  to  his  frequent  disappointments  and  the 
carefulness  they  forced  upon  him,  to  the  distrust  in 
his  own  judgment  which  he  had  occasion  to  learn, 
and  the  necessity  of  confining  his  action  to  the  point 
immediately  before  him.  But  I am  inclined  to  think 
that  this  apprehensiveness  was  constitutional.  If 
it  is  suggested  by  way  of  objection  that  the  bold 
experiment  of  Brook  Farm,  made  in  the  face  of 
obloquy  and  derision,  indicated  moral  courage  of  a 
high  stamp,  I would  remind  the  critic  of  the  warm 
approbation  of  his  friends,  and  the  confident  expec- 
tation of  success  on  the  part  of  those  he  was  inti- 
mate with.  His  wife  not  merely  gave  him  her 
countenance  but  stimulated  his  zeal,  and  surrounded 
him  every  day  with  an  atmosphere  of  faith.  He 


MY  FRIENDS. 


245 


had  the  applause  of  Dr.  Charming,  and  the  support 
of  his  brilliant  nephew.  Men  like  Hawthorne,  Ellis 
Gray  Loring,  George  Stearns,  not  to  mention  others, 
urged  him  on.  His  own  wT ell-beloved  sister  was  one 
of  his  ardent  coadjutors.  He  had  hopes  of  Emer- 
son. In  short,  so  far  from  being  alone,  he  stood 
in  an  influential  company,  and  instead  of  his  being 
altogether  unpopular  was  encompassed  by  the  good- 
will of  those  he  prized  most.  It  would  have  re- 
quired courage  to  resist  such  influences.  Besides, 
he  was  inflated  by  a momentary  enthusiasm  which 
carried  him  along  in  spite  of  himself  and  would  not 
allow  his  judgment  to  work.  A sudden  storm 
struck  him,  lifted  unusual  waves,  caused  unexam- 
pled spurts  of  foam,  made  the  ordinarily  quiet  water 
boisterous  and  dangerous,  and  threw  long  lines  of 
breakers  on  the  coast,  so  that  what  was  a still  lake 
became  of  a sudden  a tempestuous  sea.  One  must 
not  hastily  imagine  that  the  water  had  become  an 
ocean,  or  that  it  was  really  an  Atlantic  formerly 
supposed  to  be  a pool. 

Then  it  must  be  said  he  loved  money  too  well. 
This  infirmity  wras  not  native  to  him,  but  must 
probably  be  imputed  to  early  poverty,  the  necessity 
of  working  hard  in  order  to  pay  debts  not  altogether 
of  his  own  contracting,  thus  pledging  the  meagre 
income  of  the  first  sixty  years  of  his  life.  His  final 
income  was  large,  but  it  was  earned  by  incessant 
literary  toil,  which  naturally  rendered  him  avaricious 
of  the  rewards  that  might  come  to  him.  His  gen- 


246  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

erosity  did  not  have  a fair  chance  to  show  itself 
outside  of  his  family.  There  it  was  lavish,  but 
there  it  was  too  much  mixed  up  with  affection,  duty, 
and  pride  to  be  credited  to  his  manhood.  He  did 
not  live  long  enough,  either,  to  attain  complete 
superiority  over  his  accidents.  He  was  already  an 
old  man  before  he  had  money  for  his  wants.  I 
remember  meeting  him  on  Broadway  in  1861,  the 
year  of  his  wife’s  death,  and  he  said  : My  grief  is 

embittered  by  the  thought  that  she  died  just  as  I 
was  getting  able  to  obtain  for  her  what  she  needed.” 
He  was  then  fifty-nine  years  of  age.  It  cannot  be 
expected  that  any  impulse  of  generosity  will  over- 
come the  habits  of  a life-time  at  so  advanced  a period 
as  this.  That  they  showed  themselves  at  all  is  re- 
markable, and  establishes  as  well  their  power  as  their 
existence. 

In  a word,  this  man  was  too  heavily  weighted  by 
circumstances  to  do  his  genius  full  justice.  He 
seemed  to  be  two  individuals,  with  little  in  common 
between  them.  As  one  looked  at  his  past  or  at 
his  present,  his  real  character  was  differently  judged. 
The  most  plausible  account  of  him  was  that  which 
supposed  the  experiences  to  be  buried  in  a deep 
grave,  which  was  seldom  uncovered  even  by  the 
man  himself,  who  lived  in  the  day  before  him,  and 
rarely  glanced  back  save  to  mourn  over  or  to  make 
sport  of  his  former  career.  The  only  way  of  establish- 
ing a unity  in  his  history  is  to  concede  the  supremacy 
of  the  intellectual  quality  over  the  moral  in  his  first 


MY  FRIENDS. 


247 


endeavors.  The  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  moral  was 
and  is  so  strong  tliat  to  maintain  this  supremacy  will 
seem  like  a condemnation  of  him,  though  meant  in 
his  praise.  He  probably  would  so  have  considered 
it,  especially  when  carried  away  by  the  flood  of 
memories.  It  was  easy  for  him  to  be  mistaken. 
His  merit  consists  in  the  energy  of  the  reason  which 
made  headway  against  a host  of  disadvantages  and 
achieved  something  resembling  a victory  in  the  end. 
Some  time  hence,  when  the  homage  paid  to  senti- 
ment shall  have  yielded  to  the  worship  of  knowledge, 
George  Ripley  will  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  earliest 
apostles  of  the  light. 

All  these  greatly  enriched  my  life  in  New  York, 
opened  new  spheres  of  activity,  and  enlarged  my 
whole  horizon,  both  intellectually  and  socially.  Their 
variety,  elasticity,  and  vigor  in  many  fields  of  intel- 
lectual force  added  much  to  the  extension  of  my 
view,  and  acted,  not  merely  as  a refreshment,  but 
also  as  a stimulus. 


XV. 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 

The  progress  of  mind  is  continuous.  Strictly 
speaking,  there  are  no  periods  of  transition,  no  crises 
in  thought.  The  history  of  ideas  presents  no  gap. 
Every  stage  begius  and  ends  an  epoch.  One  is 
often  reminded  of  the  common  notion  that  the  year 
begins  and  ends  at  a particular  moment.  Every 
day  begins  and  ends  a year ; every  hour  is  equally 
sacred.  Yet  solemn  thought,  worship,  self-examina- 
tion, are  precious,  and  these  can  be  secured  only  by 
the  observance  of  times  and  seasons ; so  that  we 
fall  on  our  knees  and  pray  when  the  old  year  ends 
and  the  new  one  beo-ins. 

O 

So,  as  a point  of  time  must  be  fixed  upon,  we  will 
begin  with  Thomas  Paine.  It  is  not  easy  to  speak 
fully  and  justly  of  Paine,  because  in  so  doing  we 
must  speak  of  the  misapprehensions  and  mis-state- 
ments of  which  he  has  been  the  victim ; and  even  if 
we  refute  these,  the  bare  mention  of  them  leaves  a 
stain  on  his  fame.  Xo  doubt  his  method — applica- 
tion of  common-sense  to  religion — was  essentially 
vicious.  Common-sense  is  an  admirable  qualit}7  in 
practical  affairs,  quite  indispensable  in  the  manage- 

248 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


249 


ment  of  business  of  all  kinds,  but  it  has  no  place  in 
the  discussion  of  works  of  the  higher  imagination— 
of  poetry,  art,  music,  or  faith.  But  such  was  the 
man’s  genius,  such  was  the  demand  of  his  age.  It  is 
easy  to  speak  of  his  ignorance,  his  coarseness,  his 
impudence,  his  vanity ; but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  his  education  was  very  imperfect,  for  he  was 
utterly  ignorant  of  any  language  but  his  own,  and 
he  did  not,  apparently,  read  even  the  English  deists; 
that  he  was  a man  of  the  people ; that  he  lived 
in  an  age  of  revolutions ; that  he  stood  for  the 
rights  of  common  humanity.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered also  that,  in  the  first  place,  he  brought  the 
human  mind  face  to  face  with  problems  which  had 
been  appropriated  by  a special  class  that  considered 
itself  exempt  from  criticism.  In  the  next  place  he 
was  in  dead  earnest ; not  attacking  the  Bible  or 
religion  out  of  flippancy  or  brutality,  but  because 
he  really  hated  the  interpretations  that  were  usually 
given  of  sacred  things;  his  attack  was  against  ortho- 
doxy, not  against  faith.  “His  blasphemy,”  says 
Leslie  Stephen,  “ was  not  against  the  Supreme  God, 
but  ag;ainst  Jehovah.  He  was  vindicating-  the  ruler 
of  the  universe  from  the  imputations  which  believers 
in  literal  inspiration  and  dogmatical  theology  had 
heaped  upon  him  under  the  disguise  of  homage. 
He  was  denying  that  the  God  before  whom  reason- 
able creatures  should  bow  in  reverence  could  be  the 
supernatural  tyrant  of  priestly  imagination,  who 
was  responsible  for  Jewish  massacres,  who  favored 


250 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


a petty  clan  at  the  expense  of  his  other  creatures, 
who  punished  the  innocent  for  the  guilty,  who 
lighted  the  fires  of  everlasting  torment  for  the 
masses  of  mankind,  and  who  gave  a monopoly  of 
his  favor  to  priests  or  a few  favored  enthusiasts. 
Paine,  in  short,  with  all  his  brutality,  had  the  con- 
science of  his  hearers  on  his  side,  and  we  must 
prefer  his  rough  exposure  of  popular  errors  to  the 
unconscious  blasphemy  of  his  supporters.”  Then 
Paine  did  love  his  hind ; he  abhorred  cruelty,  and 
desired,  after  his  fashion,  to  elevate  his  race. 

Examples  of  this  are  numerous.  At  the  time 
when  the  u Common  Sense  ” and  “ Crisis  ” were 
having  an  enormous  sale,  the  demand  for  the  former 
reaching  not  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  copies, 
and  both  together  offering  to  the  author  profits  that 
would  have  made  him  rich,  Paine  freely  gave  the 
copyright  to  every  State  in  the  Union.  In  his 
period  of  public  favor  and  of  intimate  friendship 
with  the  founders  of  the  government,  Paine  declined 
to  accept  any  place  or  office  of  emolument,  saying: 
“ I must  be  in  everything,  as  I have  ever  been,  a 
disinterested  volunteer.  My  proper  sphere  of  action 
is  on  the  common  floor  of  citizenship,  and  to  honest 
men  I give  my  hand  and  heart  freely.”  The  State 
of  Virginia  made  a large  claim  on  the  general  gov- 
ernment for  lands.  Thomas  Paine  opposed  the 
claim  as  unreasonable  and  unjust,  though  at  that 
very  time  there  was  a resolution  before  the  legisla- 
ture of  Virginia  to  appropriate  to  him  a handsome 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


251 


sum  of  money  for  services  rendered.  In  1797,  Paine 
was  the  chief  promoter  of  the  society  of  “ Theo- 
philanthropists,”  whose  object  was  the  extinction  of 
religious  prejudices,  the  maintenance  of  morality, 
and  the  diffusion  of  faith  in  one  God.  “ It  is  want 
of  feeling,”  says  this  heartless  blasphemer,  “ to  talk 
of  priests  and  bells,  while  infants  are  perishing  in 
hospitals,  and  the  aged  and  infirm  poor  are  dying  in 
the  streets.”  In  1774,  Paine  published  in  the  Penn- 
sylvania Journal,  a strong,  anti-slavery  essay. 
While  clerk  in  the  Pennsylvania  Legislature  he 
made  an  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  army,  then  in  ex- 
treme distress,  and  subscribed  his  entire  salary  for 
the  year  to  the  fund  that  was  raised.  Towards  the 
close  of  his  life,  he  devised  a plan  for  imposing  a 
special  tax  on  all  deceased  persons’  estates,  to  create 
a fund  from  which  all,  on  reaching  twenty-one 
years,  should  receive  a sum  to  establish  them  in 
business,  and  in  order  that  all  who  were  in  the  de- 
cline of  life  should  be  saved  from  destitution.  It  is 
not  generally  known  that  Paine  often  preached  on 
Sunday  afternoons  at  New  Rochelle.  In  England 
he  spoke  in  early  life  from  Dissenting  pulpits,  and  to 
him  we  owe  this  exquisite  definition  of  religion:  “It 
is  man  bringing  to  his  Maker  the  fruits  of  his  heart.” 
All  this  is  evidence  that  honorable  considerations 
were  at  the  bottom  of  his  own  belief.  He  was,  ac- 
cording to  his  view,  the  friend  of  man,  and  in  this 
interest  wrote  his  books.  He  introduced  kindness 
into  religion. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


252 

He  certainly  repeated  the  ideas  of  Collins  and 
Toland,  and  the  conceptions  that  were  floating  in 
the  air,  breathed  by  Voltaire  and  Diderot;  but  he 
did  give  them  voice.  The  English  deists  were  dead, 
and  would  have  continued  so  but  for  him.  He  was 
essentially  a pamphleteer,  the  master  of  a very  rich, 
simple  style  that  went  directly  to  the  hearts  of  the 
people.  His  best  performances  were  unquestionably 
political,  but  all  his  works  were  marked  by  the  same 
peculiarities.  His  mistake  was  in  supposing  that 
the  power  that  could  animate  an  army  could  pull 
down  a church. 

Paine  was  no  saint,  but  he  was  no  sinner  above  all 
that  dwelt  in  Jerusalem.  He  drank  too  much ; he 
took  too  much  snuff ; he  was  vulgar ; he  was  a ve- 
hement man  in  a vehement  age ; he  went  to  dinner 
in  his  dressing-gown  ; and  he  certainly  did  not  bring 
his  best  convictions  to  bear  on  his  private  character; 
but  he  did  wake  up  minds  that  had  been  dumb  or 
oppressed  before.  The  “ Age  of  Reason 11  went 
everywhere,  into  holes  and  corners,  among  back- 
woodsmen and  pioneers,  and  did  more  execution 
among  plain  moral  men  than  many  a book  that  was 
more  worthy  of  acceptance.  It  is  a pity  that  his 
disciples  should  be  content  with  repeating  his  de- 
nials, instead  of  building  on  the  rational  foundations 
which  he  laid.  For  instance,  they  might,  while 
adding  to  his  criticism  of  the  Scriptures,  have  shown 
their  high  moral  bearing  and  their  spiritual  glow. 
They  might  have  carried  out  further  his  “ enthusiasm 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


253 


for  humanity,”  showing  that  man  had  more  in  him 
than  Paine  suspected.  They  might  have  justified  by 
more  scientific  reasons  his  belief  in  God  and  in  im- 
mortality. They  might  have  been  truly  rationalists 
as  he  wanted  to  be,  but  could  not  be  at  that  period. 
But  they  were  satisfied  with  saying  over  and  over 
a^ain  what  he  said  as  well  as  he  could,  but  not  as 
well  as  they  can.  He  was  simply  a precursor,  but 
he  was  a precursor  of  such  men  as  Colenso  and 
Robertson  Smith,  and  a large  host  of  scholars  beside. 

Paine’s  best  exponent  in  America  is  perhaps  Robert 
G.  Ingersoll.  He  is  a sort  of  transfigured  Paine. 
He  has  all  Paine’s  power  over  the  masses,  being  per- 
haps the  most  eloquent  man  in  America ; more  than 
Paine’s  wit ; more  than  Paine’s  earnestness ; more 
than  Paine’s  love  of  humanity  ; more  than  Paine’s 
scorn  of  deceit  and  harshness, — for  he  extends  his 
abhorrence  of  cruelty  even  to  dumb  beasts.  He  has 
great  power  of  sympathy,  a tender  feeling  for  misery 
of  all  kinds.  He  is  a poet,  as  is  evident  from  these 
words : 

We  do  not  know  whether  the  grave  is  the  end  of  this  life  or 
the  door  of  another,  or  whether  the  night  here  is  somewhere 
else  a dawn.  The  idea  of  Immortality,  that  like  a sea  has 
ebbed  and  flowed  into  the  human  heart  with  its  countless  waves 
beating  against  the  shores  and  rocks  of  time  and  faith,  was  not 
born  of  any  book  or  of  any  creed  or  of  any  religion.  It  was 
born  of  human  affection,  and  it  will  continue  to  ebb  and  flow 
beneath  the  mists  and  clouds  of  doubt  and  darkness  as  long  as 
love  kisses  the  lips  of  death.  It  is  the  rainbow,  Hope,  shining 
upon  the  tears  of  grief. 


254 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Paine’s  simple  childlike  belief  in  God  and  Im- 
mortality, Iugersoll  remands  to  the  cloudy  sphere  of 
agnosticism,  as  Paine  probably  would  now ; but  it 
is  my  opinion  that  if  evidence  which  he  regarded  as 
satisfactory — that  is,  legal  evidence — could  be  given, 
he,  too,  would  accept  these  articles ; for  he  has  none 
of  the  elements  of  the  bigot  about  him.  His  detes- 
tation is  simply  of  hell  and  a priesthood  ; for  pure, 
spiritual  religion,  he  has  only  respect.  Like  Paine, 
he  attacks  the  ecclesiasticism  and  theology  of  the 
day,  and  is  satisfied  with  doing  that ; and,  like 
Paine,  he  has  convictions  instead  of  opinions,  and  his 
character  is  all  aflame  with  his  ideas. 

In  his  private  life,  in  his  family  relations,  in  his 
public  career,  there  is  no  reproach  on  his  name — 
nothing  that  he  need  be  ashamed  of. 

Mr.  Ingersoll  does  not  worship  the  Infinite  under 
any  recognized  form  or  name,  but  that  he  adores  the 
substance  of  deity  is  beyond  all  doubt ; he  worships 
truth  and  purity  and  sincerity  and  love, — everything 
that  is  highest  and  noblest  in  human  life.  One  word 
["more  I must  say, — that  his  motive  is  essentially  re- 
ligious. It  is  his  aim  to  lift  off  the  burden  of  supersti- 
tion and  priestcraft ; to  elevate  the  soul  of  manhood 
and  womanhood  ; to  promote  rational  progress  in 
goodness ; to  emancipate  every  possibility  of  power  in 
the  race ; and  this  is  the  aim  of  every  pure  religion, 
— to  open  new  spheres  of  hope  and  accomplishment. 

The  disintegration  of  the  popular  orthodoxy  goes 
on  very  fast,  and  always  under  the  influence  of  the 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


255 


moral  sentiment.  This  is  very  prettily  put  by  Miss 
Jewett,  in  one  of  her  short  stories,  entitled  “ The 
Town  Poor.”  Two  ladies,  jogging  along  a country 
road,  fall  to  talking  about  an  old  meeting-house 
which  is  being  improved  after  the  modern  fashion. 
One  of  them  laments  the  loss  of  the  ancient  pews 
and  pulpit,  and  the  substitution  of  a modern  platform 
and  slips.  The  other  says  : 


When  I think  of  them  old  sermons  that  used  to  be  preached 
in  that  old  meeting-house,  I am  glad  it  is  altered  over  so  as  not 
to  remind  folks.  Them  old  brimstone  discourses  ! you  know 
preachers  is  far  more  reasonable  now-a-days.  Why,  I sat  an’ 
thought  last  Sabbath  as  I listened,  that  if  old  Mr.  Longbrother 
and  Deacon  Bray  could  hear  the  difference,  they ’d  crack  the 
ground  over  ’em  like  pole  beans,  and  come  right  up  'long  side 


their  headstones. 


J 


In  Chicago,  some  years  ago,  orthodox  preachers 
begged  a pronounced  radical  to  stay  and  help  them 
fight  the  matter  out  on  the  inside  ; and  a minister  of 
one  of  the  principal  churches  there  distinctly  said 
that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
Bible  or  an  everlasting  punishment.  A Congrega- 
tional minister  in  Connecticut  expressed  himself  as 
thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  the  advanced  party  in 
theology.  An  orthodox  clergyman  in  New  England 
declared  that  he  did  not  know  of  an  orthodox  min- 
ister in  the  whole  range  of  his  acquaintance  who 
believed  in  the  old  doctrine.  A minister  in  Rhode 
Island,  who  occupied  a high  position  in  the  ortho- 
dox church,  while  declining  to  make  an  open  state- 


256 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


ment  on  account  of  social  and  political  reasons, 
avowed  his  willingness  to  write  a private  letter 
disclaiming  all  belief  in  the  accepted  views.  The 
Rev.  Howard  MacQueary,  the  Episcopal  rector  of 
Canton,  Ohio,  who  has  recently  published  a book, 
entitled  the  “ Evolution  of  Man  and  Christianity,” 
has  been  convicted  of  heresy  against  his  own  protest 
and  the  popular  sentiment.  The  successor  of  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  in  Brooklyn,  H.  Y.,  recently  pub- 
lished the  essentials  of  his  creed.  There  is  no  fall 
in  it,  no  trinity,  no  miracle  in  the  old  sense,  no  eter- 
nal punishment.  He  declares,  frankly,  that  there  is 
no  difference  in  kind  between  man,  Jesus,  and  God, 
but  only  a difference  in  degree.  The  same  man 
recently  preached  in  King’s  Chapel,  and  lectured 
in  Channing  Hall.  The  Andover  controversy  dis- 
tinctly reveals  the  decay  of  the  ancient  theology. 
In  England  dissent  has  gone  very  far,  as  is  evident 
from  a book  called  “ The  Kernel  and  the  Husk,” 
written  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  E.  A.  Abbott,  the  author  of 
the  article  on  “ The  Gospels,”  in  the  last  edition  of 
the  “ Encyclopaedia  Britannica.”  In  this  article  the 
fall  is  repudiated,  the  trinity,  miracles,  the  virgin 
birth,  the  physical  resurrection  of  Jesus,  and  eternal 
punishment ; yet  even  his  bishop  has  not  rebuked 
him.  Yes,  the  moral  sentiment  is  certainly  coming 
to  its  rights. 

Of  Unitarianism,  after  what  has  been  said,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  speak.  That  there  should  be  a dif- 
ference between  the  East  and  the  West  is  natural. 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


25  7 


The  East  holds  fast,  in  large  sense,  to  the  ancient 
theological  traditions.  The  West  never  had  them, 
and  can  therefore  declare  that  its  fellowship  is  con- 
ditioned on  no  doctrinal  tests,  and  can  welcome  all 
who  wish  to  establish  truth  and  righteousness  and 
love  in  the  world.  The  West  will  ultimately  pre- 
vail ; the  temper  of  the  East  is  rapidly  wasting 
away,  and  the  breach  will  soon  be  closed  up.  The" 
new  Unitarian  churches  will  be  founded  on  a prac- 
tical basis,  the  only  requirement  being  that  the  min- 
ister should  be  deeply  in  earnest  about  religious 
things.  The  characteristic  of  all  churches,  of  what- 
ever name,  is  an  urgent  interest  in  social  reform,  a 
deep  concern  for  the  disfranchised  and  oppressed, 
and  a warm  feeling  towards  the  elevation  of  man- 
kind. The  universal  prayer  is,  to  borrow  the  pithy 
language  of  Ur.  F.  H.  Hedge  : “ May  Thy  kingdom 
come  on  earth  ! ” not  “ May  we  come  into  Thy 

If  it  was  hard  to  do  full  justice  to  Thomas  Paine,  it 
is  harder  to  do  full  justice  to  the  Broad  Churchman. 
There  is  no  authoritative  account  of  his  position  to 
which  appeal  can  be  made,  and  the  great  variety  of 
opinion  on  incidental  points  makes  it  difficult  to 
frame  any  description  which  the  leaders  would  accept. 
A great  deal  depends  on  the  change  of  circumstances, 
the  ruling  spirit  of  the  time,  the  prevailing  tenden- 
cies of  thought  in  the  period, — whether  scientific, 
critical,  or  social, — and  a great  deal  depends,  too,  on 

the  peculiarities  of  individual  temperament,  but  the 
17 


258 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


fundamental  doctrines  are  the  same.  The  ordinary 
observer  can  see  the  largeness,  sympathy,  inclusive- 
ness, devotion  to  actual  needs.  But  the  ordinary 
observer  cannot  see  the  real  basis  of  faith  in  human 
nature  ; the  manifestation  of  the  Divine  Being  in  the 
highest  possibilities  of  man  ; the  trust  in  a living, 
active,  communicating  God. 

These  are  cardinal  points,  and  must  be  insisted 
on.  The  inherent  depravity  of  man ; his  essential 
corruption  ; his  absolute  inability  to  receive  any  por- 
tion of  the  divine  life,  is  naturally  repudiated.  But 
his  feebleness,  crudeness,  imperfection,  his  dearth 
and  deficiency,  his  sensuality,  hardness,  love  of  mate- 
rial things,  is  insisted  on,  and  cannot  be  exaggerated. 
Still  there  is  a germ  of  the  divine  nature  in  him,  a 
spark  of  the  divine  flame  which  can  be  kindled. 
The  familiar  language  of  Longfellow  expresses  this 
idea  exactly : 

“Ye  whose  hearts  are  fresh  and  simple, 

Who  have  faith  in  God  and  Nature, 

Who  believe  that  in  all  ages 
Every  human  heart  is  human, 

That  in  even  savage  bosoms 

There  are  longings,  yearnings,  strivings 

For  the  good  they  comprehend  not. 

That  the  feeble  hands  and  helpless, 

Groping  blindly  in  the  darkness, 

Touch  God’s  right  hand  in  that  darkness 
And  are  lifted  up  and  strengthened : — 

Listen  to  this  simple  story.” 

To  this  nature,  thus  receptive,  God  addresses 
Himself.  He  is  the  Father,  the  absolute  Love,  and 
his  desire  is  to  lead  men  upward  towards  the  height 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION.  259 

of  divine  perfection.  In  all  ages,  in  every  way,  he 
has  been  trying  to  do  this ; and  all  nature,  all  art, 
all  literature  is  full  of  this  affection  for  his  child. 
Even  the  Pagan  myths  express  this  striving  of  God 
with  man.  The  existence  of  what  we  call  evil  is 
assumed,  but  there  is  no  attempt  to  explain  it  or 
theorize  about  it  or  reconcile  it  with  any  mode  of 
philosophy.  To  us  it  may  be  simply  the  divine  ef- 
fort to  startle  the  soul  into  a consciousness  of  itself. 
Even  the  worst  forms  of  doubt,  of  denial,  of  atheism 
may  be  parts  of  this  divine  effort ; even  men  like 
Strauss  and  Feuerbach  may  be  witnesses  for  truth,  be- 
cause they  drive  men  back  in  horror  from  the  pit  of 
disbelief,  and  compel  them  to  take  refuge  through 
tears  and  prayers  in  the  supreme  love.  Of  absolute 
evil  we  cannot  be  sure  that  there  is  any ; so  many 
Ways  must  the  infinite  spirit  have  to  awaken  men  to 
a sense  of  their  own  destiny. 

I cannot  better  convey  my  thought  than  by  re- 
counting the  essence  of  two  sermons  that  I heard 
some  years  ago  from  eminent  preachers  in  different 
American  cities ; the  first  was  on  the  death  of 
Charles  Darwin.  After  a very  ornate  service,  the 
minister  dwelt  enthusiastically  on  the  merits  of 
Darwin  as  a philosopher,  described  his  system,  and 
declared  that  his  own  belief  in  the  Deity  of  Christ, 
was  confirmed  in  large  measure  by  Darwin’s  theory 
of  the  Selection  of  the  Fittest.  The  statement  was 
startling  at  first,  for  the  two  doctrines  seemed  to 
point  in  opposite  directions,  but  the  speaker  prob- 


2(5o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


ably  meant  that  the  Christ  expressed  all  the  poten- 
tialities of  human  nature  ; that  he  was  the  Fittest ; 
not  a miracle,  not  an  exception  to  humanity,  but  the 
perfection  of  man ; in  other  words,  a divine  person. 
The  other  sermon  turned  on  the  murder  of  Sisera 
(Judges  iv,  18),  as  contrasted  with  a statement  in  the 
first  epistle  of  John  (iv,  8),  “ God  is  love.”  The  rector 
spoke  of  the  assassination  of  Sisera  in  terms  of  ex- 
treme abhorrence ; called  it  treacherous,  cruel,  base, 
and  then  said  : “ See  what  progress  the  human  mind 
has  made  from  this  period  to  that  when  John  was 
written.”  The  common  impression  is  that  the  human 
mind  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  it  being  the  divine 
mind  that  was  alone  in  question.  But  what  the 
preacher  meant  was  evidently  this, — either  that  the 
divine  mind  dropped  thoughts  into  the  human  mind 
as  fast  as  they  could  be  appreciated,  or  that  the 
human  mind,  imperfect  in  development,  apprehended 
all  that  it  could  of  the  perfect  mind.  Whichever 
case  we  assume,  the  integrity  of  the  divine  mind  is 
secured,  and  at  the  same  time  the  growth  of  the 
human. 

At  this  point,  the  conception  of  the  Broad  Church- 
man’s idea  of  the  inspiration  of  the  Scripture  must 
be  dwelt  upon,  for  the  doctrine  is  very  remarkable, 
and  throws  a flood  of  light  upon  his  whole  concep- 
tion of  the  aim  and  purpose  of  Christianity.  Ac- 
cording to  the  common  notion,  the  Bible  is  literally 
the  word  of  God,  and  men  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  submit  themselves  to  its  authority.  They  must 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION.  261 

suppress  all  natural  desires,  all  dictates  of  their 
moral  sense,  to  this  supreme  standard  of  truth  and 
rectitude.  According  to  this  notion,  the  whole  of 
man,  as  a thoroughly  corrupted  being,  is  subject , in 
obedience  to  this  law.  The  second  theory,  adopted 
by  the  American  Broad  Churchman,  holds  that  the 
Bible  contains  the  word  of  God ; and  this  implies 
that  there  may  be  a part  of  the  Bible  that  is  not  the 
word  of  God,  and  opens  the  way  to  an  indefinite 
amount  of  criticism,  speculation,  and  doubt.  The 
English  Broad  Churchman  holds,  as  I understand  it, 
the  common  doctrine,  but  with  this  immense  differ- 
ence. That  whereas,  according  to  the  common  no- 
tion, the  Bible  is  the  word  of  God,  he  maintains  that 
the  whole  object  of  the  Bible  is  to  educate  and  up- 
lift man.  The  word  is  a minister  to  human  needs. 
Through  it,  God  is  trying  in  various  ways,  by 
history,  biography,  tale,  and  song,  to  warn,  persuade, 
teach,  inspire  the  human  soul.  Sometimes  he  can 
do  nothing  but  startle,  shame,  provoke;  and  the 
very  things  we  find  fault  with  may  be  designed 
for  moral  education.  The  Bible,  itself,  encourages 
this  idea.  Does  not  Paul  preach  reconciliation? 
Does  not  John  speak  of  God  as  love  ? God  hard- 
ened the  heart  of  Pharaoh  in  order  that  he  might 
show  that  He  was  stronger  than  Pharaoh.  Jacob  was 
not  altogether  a lovely  character,  but  the  Lord  wres- 
tled with  him  and  lamed  him,  thus  showing  his  own 
disapproval  of  the  patriarch’s  temper.  David  was  a 
seducer,  adulterer,  and  murderer,  but  he  repented,  was 


262 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


ashamed,  was  sorrowful,  and  this  repentance  made 
him  a man  after  God’s  own  heart.  It  was  not  that 
God  approved  of  his  conduct,  but  that  he  wanted  to 
make  us  disapprove  of  it.  In  like  manner  Luther 
based  his  faith  on  the  Bible,  because  it  convicted 
him  of  sin,  and  drove  him  to  seek  refuge  for  himself 
in  Christ.  The  Church  as  an  organization  has  always 
this  one  purpose  in  view — to  minister  to  the  soul 
of  man.  The  “ Articles  ” fairly  throbbed  with  this 
conception.  The  outrage  committed  by  the  “ Evan- 
gelicals,” men  who  insist  upon  everlasting  punish- 
ment and  talk  of  doom,  consists  in  their  overlooking 
this  divine  purpose  towards  humanity. 

The  doctrines  of  the  Church — the  Deity  of  Christ, 
the  Incarnation,  the  Resurrection,  the  Ascension — 
bear  this  testimony,  and  are  inexplicable  without  it. 
But  these  doctrines  simply  convey  one  thought. 
The  Christ  must  be  God,  otherwise  he  could  not 
exemplify  the  perfect  love  ; he  must  be  Incarnate, 
otherwise  he  could  not  mingle  with  men.  His  Resur- 
rection teaches  his  absolute  triumph  over  death  ; his 
Ascension  is  a pledge  of  his  union  with  God  and  his 
perpetual  intercourse  with  God’s  children. 

The  two  rites , Baptism  and  Communion,  give  the 
same  idea.  Baptism  imports  a recognition  of  the  duty 
to  lead  a Christian  life  ; and  Communion  imports 
a wish,  on  the  part  of  all  who  partake  of  it,  to  enter 
into  the  privilege  of  a perfect  harmony  with  Christ. 
None  of  these  points  are  reached  by  criticism,  or  any 
array  of  texts,  though  passages  may  be  cited  in  con- 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


263 


firmation  of  them.  But  the  proof  is  derived  from 
experience,  from  the  felt  need  of  enlightenment  and 
inspiration,  from  prayer  and  the  yearning  after  eternal 
life.  No  doubt  it  is  taken  for  granted  that  neither 
the  Bible  nor  the  Church  expresses  the  whole  word 
of  God.  The  word  is  as  large  as  the  divine  love, 
and  this  is  infinite.  The  complete  word  of  God 
includes  all  nature,  all  history,  and  all  life. 

It  will  be  understood  that  the  Broad  Church  notion 
is  only  a theory  and  rests  entirely  on  its  reasonable- 
ness. It  is  simply  a modification  of  Episcopalian- 
ism,  and  none  but  an  Episcopalian  would  be  likely 
to  adopt  it.  Its  interest  for  us  consists  in  its  human 
character,  in  its  earnestness  for  social  reform,  in  its 
passionate  desire  to  make  conscience  and  justice  and 
freedom  of  the  Spirit  supreme  in  all  human  affairs. 
It  is  essentially  an  ethical  system  with  an  ecclesiasti- 
cal addition  and  a heavenly  purpose. 

There  is  certainly  a great  difference  between  the 
Broad  Church  in  America  and  the  Broad  Church  in 
England  ; there  are  no  Thirty-Nine  Articles  in  this 
country  ; there  is  no  National  Church.  The  Broad 
Churchman  here  is  still  a Churchman,  but  the  system 
is  much  more  elastic  and  much  more  intellectual. 
The  Church  is  to  him  also  a divine  institution,  but 
not  a final  establishment ; and  it  becomes  divine  by 
virtue  of  its  helpfulness  in  imparting  the  divine  life 
and  its  power  of  human  service.  The  sacraments 
have  become  symbols,  venerable  from  their  antiquity, 
but  more  venerable  from  their  use.  The  Broad 


264  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

Churchman  is  an  orthodox  believer,  but  he  accepts 
only  the  simplest  creeds,  and  he  interprets  them  in 
accordance  with  the  rational  principles  of  thought, 
and  with  his  fundamental  conception  of  Christianity, 
holding  not  to  the  written  letter,  but  to  the  real 
meaning;  of  the  Confession.  This  meaning:  is,  he 
maintains,  easily  reconcilable  with  the  idea  that  all 
revelation  is  made  to  a living  mind, — whether  that 
of  a race  or  an  individual, — and  that  the  Bible  is 
merely  the  record  of  it.  No  book , in  his  estimation,  can 
be  inspired.  This,  coupled  with  a belief  in  the  unlim- 
ited progress  of  the  natural  conscience,  brings  the 
system  within  the  category  of  modern  arrangements. 

The  idea  that  man  is  developed  into  the  divine 
life,  not  converted  to  it,  seems  to  be  the  heart  of  the 
system.  The  writings  of  F.  D.  Maurice  are  full  of 
it.  He  said  that  he  did  not  know  what  the  Broad 
Church  was,  and  disclaimed  any  position  in  it ; yet 
he  is  its  reputed  father,  and  certainly  held  its  cardi- 
nal doctrine.  This  was  the  soul  of  his  teaching ; 
this  dictated  his  likes  and  his  dislikes  ; this  animated 
his  dissent  from  the  Evangelicals  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  Rationalists  on  the  other;  this  made  him 
cling  to  the  “ Articles  ” ; this  made  him  love  the 
Church.  I cannot  better  convey  my  notion  of  the 
Broad  Churchman’s  credence  than  by  quoting  some 
passages  from  Maurice  : 


I think  that  the  ground-work  of  this  thought  and  this 
humanity  is  laid  hare  in  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  ; that  for 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


265 


that  ground-work  [namely,  the  living  God,  the  living  Word]  all 
our  different  schools  are  trying  to  produce  feeble  and  crum- 
bling substitutes  ; that  we  must  recur  to  it  if  we  would  pass 
the  narrow  dimensions  of  Calvinism,  Anglicanism,  Romanism  ; 
if  we  would  learn  what  a message  we  have  for  Jews,  Mahome- 
tans, Brahmins,  Buddhists,  for  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  as 
well  as  our  poor  people  at  home. 

I cannot  doubt  that  this  belief  [the  confession  of  a God, 
who  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come]  is  latent  in  every  man  now  ; 
that  we  are  all  living,  moving,  having  our  being  in  this  God, 
and  that  He  does  reveal  Himself  to  His  creatures  gradually, 
before  He  is  revealed  in  His  fulness  of  glory. 

I do  perceive  that  if  I have  any  work  in  the  world,  it  is  to 
bear  witness  of  this  name  [the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son, 
and  the  Holy  Ghost],  not  as  expressing  certain  relations,  how- 
ever profound,  in  the  divine  nature,  but  as  the  underground 
of  all  fellowship  among  men  and  angels,  as  that  which  will  at 
last  bind  all  into  one,  satisfying  all  the  craving  of  the  reason 
as  well  as  of  the  heart,  meeting  the  desires  and  intuitions  that 
are  scattered  through  all  the  religions  of  the  world. 

The  Church  must  either  fulfil  its  witness  of  the  redemp- 
tion for  mankind  or  be  cut  off.  And  I cannot  help  thinking 
that  a time  is  at  hand  when  we  shall  awaken  to  this  convic- 
tion, and  when  we  shall  perceive  that  what  we  call  our  indi- 
vidual salvation  means  nothing,  and  that  our  faith  in  it  becomes 
untenable  when  we  separate  it  from  the  salvation  which  Christ 
wrought  out  for  the  world  by  His  incarnation  and  sacrifice, 
resurrection  and  ascension. 

He  has  been  pleased  to  reveal  to  me  in  His  Son  the 
brightness  of  His  glory,  His  absolute  love.  On  that  point  I 
have  a right  to  be  certain  ; he  who  says  I have  not,  rejects  the 
Bible  and  disbelieves  the  incarnation  of  the  Lord.  I will  not 
give  up  an  inch  of  this  ground  ; it  is  a matter  of  life  and 
death. 

By  baptism  we  claim  the  position  which  Christ  has  claimed 
for  all  mankind.  . . . More  and  more  I am  led  to  ask 


2 66 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


myself  what  a Gospel  to  mankind  must  be,  whether  it  must 
not  have  some  other  ground  than  the  fall  of  Adam  and  the 
sinful  nature  of  man.  . . . No  doctrine  can  be  so  at 

variance  as  this,  with  the  notion  that  it  is  a Gospel  which 
men  have  need  of,  and  in  their  inmost  hearts  are  craving  for 

Why  is  not  this  system  sufficient  ? Simply  because 
the  claim  that  Christ  is  God,  does  not  seem  made 
out  to  severely  critical  minds.  Such  as  these  must 
hold  even  the  Broad  Churcli  to  be  a mythology, 
beautiful  and  innocent,  but  still  a mythology. 
The  word  “ mythology  ” implies  no  disparagement. 
A mythology  is  simply  the  poetical  form  of  an  idea, 
and  takes  its  character  from  tbe  nature  of  the  ideas 
it  represents,  Tbe  pagan  mythology  is  on  this 
account  very  different  from  the  Christian,  and  a 
mythology  that  has  universal  love  as  its  basis  may 
well  be  called  innocent  and  beautiful.  To  the 
doctrine  of  trinity,  philosophically  considered,  even 
Unitarian  scholars  make  no  objection.  What  they 
cannot  accept  is  the  deity  of  Jesus  as  an  historical 
person.  The  Christ  is  not,  in  their  opinion,  an 
historical  person,  but  a doctrine,  not  identical  with 
the  man  of  the  New  Testament.  The  Divine  Beiner 

O 

has  never,  in  their  estimation,  appeared  on  earth. 
They  only  who  can  put  aside  criticism,  can  suppress 
it,  can  regard  it  but  as  one  of  many  manifestations 
of  mind,  can  fix  their  eyes  on  a church  for  society  at 
large  and  not  for  individuals,  will  be  likely  to  accept 
it,  and  they  will  on  the  ground  that  it  is  altogether 
human,  a church  for  mankind. 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


267 


The  last  phase  iu  the  development  of  the  moral 
sentiment  is  represented  by  the  “ Ethical  Societies.” 
It  is  natural  that  the  origin  of  these  should  be 
Jewish,  for  the  Jews  are  unencumbered  by  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Christian  theology ; their  genius  is  for 
social  organization,  and  the  moral  element  is  very 
large  in  their  religion.  It  is  natural,  too,  that  the 
system  should  be  purer  here  than  in  England.  Some 
of  the  members  of  the  “ Cambridge  Ethical  Society  ” 
are  members  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  have  to 
be  warned  not  to  set  themselves  needlessly  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  work  of  the  Christian  churches.  The 
“ Edinburgh  Ethical  Club  ” is  mainly  a debating 
society.  In  America  it  is  usual  to  have  a lecturer, 
and  stated  services  on  Sunday.  But  these  services  are 
very  simple,  nay,  even  bare  ; there  is  no  prayer,  and  no 
scripture,  no  architecture  or  art  or  poetry ; but  there  is 
an  intense  earnestness,  nay,  enthusiasm,  for  social  re- 
form. There  are  kindergartens  for  the  poor  children 
of  the  streets,  there  are  classes  for  the  untaught, 
libraries  for  the  workingmen,  plans  for  better  lodging 
and  employment  for  the  families  of  artisans.  There  is 
no  fixed  doctrine  in  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  moral 
sentiments,  lest  any  should  be  alienated ; the  object 
being  to  combine  all  who  have  at  heart  the  moral 
interests  of  mankind.  The  peculiarity  of  these  soci- 
eties is  not  so  much  that  they  lay  emphasis  on  the 
moral  as  distinct  from  the  soiritual  interests,  or  aim 
to  break  down  the  dividing  line  between  Religion 
and  Ethics,  as  it  is  that  they  rest  upon  conscience 


268 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


as  the  supreme  authority,  that  they  assume  its  prac- 
tical function,  build  upon  it  as  the  one  and  only  thing 
absolutely  known.  There  is  no  pretence  of  follow- 
ing, even  at  a distance,  the  charities  of  the  old 
churches  with  their  vast  funds,  their  immense  organ- 
izations,  their  heaps  of  tracts,  their  legions  of  mis- 
sionaries, all  employed  in  calling  unbelievers  into 
the  fold.  The  object  is  to  elevate  all  mankind  by 
appealing  to  their  moral  instincts,  on  the  ground  of 
their  inherent  ability  to  rise  in  the  scale  of  being. 

To  make  their  position  clear  let  me  quote  the 
words  of  the  founder  of  these  societies,  contained  in 
an  article  entitled  “The  Freedom  of  Ethical  Fellow- 
ship,” in  the  first  number  of  the  International 
Journal  of  Ethics  : 

It  is  the  aim  of  the  Ethical  Societies  to  extend  the  area  of 
moral  co-operation  so  as  to  include  a part,  at  least,  of  the 
inner  moral  life  ; to  unite  men  of  divers  opinions  and  beliefs 
in  the  common  endeavor  to  explore  the  field  of  duty  ; to  gain 
clearer  perceptions  of  right  and  wrong  ; to  study  with  thor- 
oughgoing zeal  the  practical  problems  of  social,  political,  and 
individual  ethics,  and  to  embody  the  new  insight  in  manners 
and  institutions.  . . 

It  -would  be  a wrong  and  a hindrance  to  the  further  exten- 
sion of  truth  to  raise  above  our  opinions  the  superstructure  of 
a social  institution.  For  institutions  in  their  nature  are  con- 
servative ; they  dare  not,  without  imperilling  their  stability, 
permit  a too  frequent  inspection  or  alteration  of  their  founda- 
tions. . . . The  subject  part  of  mankind,  in  most  places, 
might,  with  Egyptian  bondage  expect  Egyptian  darkness,  were 
not  the  candle  of  the  Lord  set  up  by  himself  in  men’s  minds, 
which  it  is  impossible  for  the  breath  or  power  of  man  wholly 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


269 


to  extinguish.  It  is  to  this  “ candle  of  the  Lord  set  up  in 
men’s  minds  ” that  we  look  for  illumination.  It  is  in  the  light 
which  it  sheds  that  we  would  read  the  problems  of  con- 
duct and  teach  others  to  read  them.  We  appeal  directly  to 
the  conscience  of  the  present  age,  and  of  the  civilized  portion 
of  mankind.  There  remains  as  a residue  a common  deposit 
of  moral  truth,  a common  stock  of  moral  judgments,  which 
we  may  call  the  common  conscience.  It  is  upon  this  common 
conscience  that  we  build.  . . . The  contents  of  the  com- 

mon conscience  we  would  clarify  and  classify,  to  the  end  that 
they  may  become  the  conscious  possession  of  all  classes  ; and 
in  order  to  enrich  and  enlarge  the  conscience,  the  method  we 
would  follow  is  to  begin  with  cases  in  which  the  moral  judg- 
ment is  already  clear,  the  moral  rule  already  accepted  ; and 
to  show  that  the  same  rule,  the  same  judgment,  applies  to  other 
cases,  which,  because  of  their  greater  complexity,  are  less 
transparent  to  the  mental  eye.  . . 

And  here  it  may  be  appropriate  to  introduce  a few  reflec- 
tions on  the  relations  of  moral  practice  to  ethical  theory  in 
religious  belief.  To  many  it  will  appear  that  the  logic  of  our 
position  must  lead  us  to  underestimate  the  value  of  philosophi- 
cal and  religious  doctrines  in  connection  with  morality,  and 
that,  having  excluded  this  from  our  basis  of  fellowship,  we 
shall  inevitably  drift  into  a crude  empiricism.  I may  be  per- 
mitted to  say  that  precisely  the  opposite  is  at  least  our  aim,  and 
that  among  the  objects  we  propose  to  ourselves,  none  are 
dearer  - than  the  advancement  of  ethical  theory  and  the 
upbuilding  of  religious  conviction.  The  Ethical  Society  is 
a society  of  persons  who  are  bent  on  being  taught  clearer 
perceptions  of  right  and  wrong,  and  being  shown  how  to 
improve  conduct.  At  least,  let  us  hasten  to  add,  the  ideal 
of  the  society  is  that  of  a body  of  men  who  shall  have  this 
bent.  Is  it  vain  to  hope  that  there  will  in  time  arise  those  who 
will  render  them  the  service  they  require.  . . . 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  every  step  forward  in  religion  was  due 
to  a quickening  of  the  moral  impulses  ; that  moral  progress 


2 70  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

is  the  condition  of  religious  progress  ; that  the  good  life  is  the 
soil  out  of  which  the  religious  life  grows.  The  truths  of  reli- 
gion are  chiefly  two, — that  there  is  a reality  other  than  that  of 
the  senses,  and  that  the  ultimate  reality  in  things  is,  in  a sense 
transcending  our  comprehension,  akin  to  the  moral  nature  of 
men.  But  how  shall  we  acquaint  ourselves  with  this  super- 
sensible ? The  ladder  of  science  does  not  reach  so  far.  And 
the  utmost  stretch  of  the  speculative  reason  cannot  attain  to 
more  than  the  abstract  postulate  of  an  infinite,  which,  how- 
ever, is  void  of  the  essential  attributes  of  divinity.  Only  the 
testimony  of  the  moral  life  can  support  a vital  conviction  of 
this  sort.  . . . 

The  Ethical  Society  is  friendly  to  genuine  religion  any- 
where and  everywhere,  because  it  vitalizes  religious  doctrines 
by  pouring  into  them  the  contents  of  spiritual  meaning.  . . . 
A new  mo^al  earnestness  must  precede  the  rise  of  larger  reli- 
gious ideals  ; for  the  new  religious  synthesis  which  many  long 
for,  will  not  be  a fabrication,  but  a growth.  It  will  not  steal 
upon  us  as  a thief  in  the  night,  or  burst  upon  us  as  lightning 
from  the  sky,  but  will  come  in  time  as  a result  of  the  gradual, 
moral  evolution  of  modern  society,  as  the  expression  of  higher 
moral  aspirations,  and  a response  to  deeper  moral  needs. 

In  his  famous  essay  on  “ Worship,”  Emerson  says  : 

There  will  be  a new  church  founded  on  moral  science,  at 
first  cold  and  naked,  a babe  in  a manger  again,  the  algebra 
and  mathematics  of  ethical  law,  the  church  of  men  to  come, 
without  shawm  or  psaltery  or  sackbut  ; but  it  will  have  heaven 
and  earth  for  its  beams  and  rafters  ; science  for  symbol  and 
illustration  ; it  will  fast  enough  gather  beauty,  music,  picture, 
poetry. 

Is  this  the  church  that  Emerson  predicted  ? It 
looks  like  it.  Already  we  seem  to  hear  the  shawms 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION. 


271 


and  sackbuts.  Already  there  are  desires  after  a 
more  rich  and  melodious  administration. 

The  last  number  of  the  International  Journal  of 
Ethics  contains  two  articles : one  on  “ The  Inner 
Life  in  Relation  to  Morality,”  the  other  on  “The 
Ethics  of  Doubt,”  which  suggest  a transcendental 
ground  for  moral  beliefs  ; and  they  who  dissent  from 
this  position  surround  action  with  an  ideal  solem- 
nity. At  all  events  it  is  something  to  see.  even  at 
a distance,  a city  that  hath  foundations. 


XVI. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  A3LERICA. 

In  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  of  October  15, 
1860,  M.  Renan  wrote  a remarkable  article  on  the 
“Future  of  Religion  in  Modern  Society.”  This 
paper  of  course  dealt  largely  with  questions  that 
were  interesting  at  that  time,  but  it  also  contains 
very  acute  observations  on  the  whole  subject,  which 
are  of  universal  concern.  His  conclusions  are  that 
neither  Judaism  nor  Romanism  nor  the  established 
forms  of  Protestantism  will  constitute  the  coming 
faith,  which  must  be  spiritual  (that  is,  free  of  space 
and  time),  undogmatical,  and  enfranchised.  “ The 
religious  question,”  he  says,  “ finds  its  solution  in 
liberty.  . . . The  liberal  principle  pre-eminently 

is  that  man  has  a soul,  that  he  is  to  be  reached  only 
through  the  soul,  that  nothino;  is  of  value  save  as  it 
effects  a change  in  the  soul.  An  inflexible  justice, 
granting  with  inexorable  firmness  liberty  to  all,  even 
to  those  who,  were  they  masters,  would  refuse  it  to 
their  adversaries,  is  the  only  issue  that  reason  dis- 
covers for  the  grave  problems  raised  in  our  time.” 
This  essay,  along  with  that  of  Emile  de  Laveleye  of 

272 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  273 

Liege  in  Belgium,  on  the  “Religions  Future  of  Civ- 
ilized Communities,”  written  in  1876,  sums  up  the 
whole  question.  It  only  remains  to  apply  their  prin- 
ciples to  America. 

Many  dread  the  prevalence  of  Roman  Catholi- 
cism. I confess  I never  could  share  in  that  appre- 
hension. For  if  there  is  anything  certain  it  is  the 
unchangeableness  of  the  lines  of  division  that  sepa- 
rate the  three  great  regions  of  the  earth,  each  having 
its  own  faith.  There  is  the  Greek  Church,  which 
rules  in  Asia ; the  Latin  Church,  which  is  confined 
to  the  Latin  races,  and  is  strongest  in  Southern  Italy, 
where  the  people  are  most  ignorant  and  supine ; and 
the  Protestant  Church,  which  prevails  in  Northern 
Europe  among  the  Germanic  nations.  As  Renan 
says : 

Nothing  will  come  of  the  mutual  struggle  of  the  three  Chris- 
tian families  ; their  equilibrium  is  as  well  assured  as  that  of 
the  three  great  races  which  share  between  them  the  world  ; 
their  separation  will  secure  the  future  against  the  excessive 
predominance  of  a single  religious  power,  just  as  the  division 
of  Europe  must  forever  prevent  the  return  of  that  orbis 
romanus , that  closed  circle,  which  allowed  no  possible  escape 
from  the  tyranny  that  unity  has  engendered. 

Moreover,  tbe  Roman  Catholic  faith  is  essentially 
Italian , and  as  such  can  have  no  permanent  influence 
in  Germany,  England,  or  America.  The  great  popes 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  whose  genius  raised  the  papacy  to 
power  and  splendor,  were  Italians.  Italy,  until  a few 
years  ago,  was  isolated  ; not  a great  political  power,  as 

18 


274 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


it  is  now,  among  other  powers  of  Europe,  nor  drawn 
by  political  affiliations  into  the  schemes  of  other 
dominions.  Besides,  the  Catholic  Church  had  the 
advantages  of  the  Italian  genius  for  organization, 
command,  wisdom  in  practical  affairs.  Then,  too,  it 
had  the  immense  benefit  of  the  old  Roman  treasures 
of  art,  which  gave  a glory  to  the  system.  These 
considerations  alone  would  make  it  impossible  that 
Romanism,  in  its  foreign  form,  should  ever  become 
the  religion  of  the  United  States.  There  may  be 
another  kind  of  ecclesiasticism,  but  without  the  an- 
cient authority ; an  ecclesiasticism  which  stands  for 
pomp,  ornament,  display,  beauty,  but  not  for  any. 
thins;  more.  There  is  evidence  that  everv  form  of 
religion  here  is  disposed  to  take  on  elements  of  deco- 
ration,— architecture,  music,  stained  glass,  drapery, 
pictures,  and  monuments;  but  this  is  only  a sign  of 
increasing  wealth,  not  of  increasing  subjection. 

In  addition  to  all  this,  the  genius  of  the  American 
people  is  strongly  against  anything  like  submission 
to  authority.  The  love  of  liberty  is  exceedingly 
powerful.  It  is  claimed  that  Romanism  is  not  com- 
mitted to  any  form  of  government,  that  it  is  as 
favorable  to  republican  institutions  as  to  monarchical ; 
but  this  is  not  the  opinion  of  Renan,  who  was  born 
and  trained  in  the  church,  and  who  is  therefore 
entitled  to  speak  with  knowledge  ; nor  is  it  the  opin- 
ion of  other  scholars,  Martineau  for  instance,  who 
says  in  his  article  on  the  “ Battle  of  the  Churches  ’ 
( Westminster  Review , January,  1851)  : 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  275 

We  are  convinced  it  cannot  occupy  the  scope  which  English 
traditions  and  English  usage  have  secured  ; that  every  step  it 
may  make  is  an  encroachment  upon  wholesome  liberty  ; that 
it  is  innocent  only  where  it  is  insignificant,  and  where  it  is 
ascendant  will  neither  part  with  power  nor  use  it  well,  and  that 
it  must  needs  raise  to  the  highest  pitch  the  common  vice  of 
tyranny  and  democracy, — the  relentless  crushing  of  minorities. 

But  whether  this  charge  of  absolutism  be  just  or 
not,  Romanism  has  been  so  long  associated  as  a polity 
with  monarchical  governments  that  it  has  contracted 
a habit  of  domineering,  and  the  people  can  never  be 
persuaded  that  the  papacy  is  democratic  in  its  con- 
stitution. 

Americans  are  very  suspicious,  too,  of  any  inter- 
ference on  the  part  of  the  government.  If  a system 
demands  an  army,  a palace,  lands,  it  must  pay  for 
them  out  of  its  own  private  means.  A generation 
or  more  ago  it  was  possible  for  an  administration 
to  give  for  a merely  nominal  sum,  in  the  very  heart 
of  a large  city,  great  estates  to  one  denomination. 
This  is  possible  no  longer.  Every  sect  must  vindi- 
cate itself,  and  stand  on  its  own  feet ; this  alone 
would  make  it  impossible  for  a church  so  poor  as 
the  Catholic  to  establish  itself  in  this  country  on 
any  terms  of  supremacy. 

The  desire  for  change  which  is  inherent  in  the 
American  mind  must  also  prove  fatal  in  the  end  to 
any  claim  of  absolute  stability.  Protestantism  is 
therefore  better  for  Americans  than  Romanism  is, 
because  it  is  more  portable,  more  various,  more  ac- 
commodating to  popular  tastes  and  inclinations. 


276  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

There  is  no  disposition  to  undervalue  the  work  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  Its  great  saints,  its  heroic 
martyrs,  its  stupendous  missions,  its  enormous  phi- 
lanthropy, its  influence  in  educating  and  controlling 
masses  of  people,  cannot  be  exaggerated  ; and  still 
it  is  destined  to  wield  an  immense  influence  as  a 
spiritual  power  over  the  human  race ; but  it  never 
again  can  be  the  absolute  system  it  once  was.  How- 
ever it  may  commend  itself  to  certain  classes  in  our 
population,  it  must  always  be  simply  one  depart- 
ment in  the  universal  church. 

But  it  will  be  said  that  the  Catholic  Church  may 
accommodate  itself  to  republican  institutions.  M. 
Henan  doubts  whether  any  radical  change  can  be 
made.  He  says  : 

Catholicism,  persuaded  that  it  works  for  the  truth,  will  al- 
ways endeavor  to  enlist  the  state  in  its  defence  or  its  spread. 
. . . Catholicism  is,  in  fact,  the  believer’s  country,  far 

more  than  is  the  land  of  his  birth.  The  stronger  a religion 
is,  the  more  effective  it  is  in  this  way.  . . . More  and 

more  have  Catholics  been  brought  to  think  that  they  derive 
life  and  salvation  from  Rome.  It  is  especially  worth  remark- 
ing that  the  new  Catholic  conquests  exhibit  the  most  sensi- 
tiveness on  this  point.  The  old  provincial  Catholic,  whose 
faith  belonged  to  the  soil,  has  less  need  of  the  Pope,  and  is 
much  less  alarmed  at  the  storms  that  menace  him,  than  the 
new  Catholics,  who  are  coming  fresh  to  Catholicism,  and  re- 
gard the  Pope,  after  the  new  system,  as  the  author  and  de- 
fender of  their  faith.  . . . Catholicism  has  been  seduced 

into  becoming  a religion  essentially  political.  The  Pope  be- 
comes the  actual  sovereign  of  the  church. 

But  supposing  that  such  an  alteration  is  pos- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  2 77 

sible,  that  the  church  can  abase  its  pretensions  to 
supremacy  over  all  other  sects,  that  Romanism 
simply  melts  into  our  society, — in  this  case,  the 
papacy,  as  usually  understood,  becomes  simply  a 
form  of  church  government  like  Presbyterianism  or 
Congregationalism  or  Episcopacy ; Catholicism  be- 
comes a purely  spiritual  faith,  and,  as  such,  is  not 
only  harmless  but  beneficent. 

The  religion,  therefore,  of  America  cannot  be  ec- 
clesiastical; neither  can  it  be  dogmatic.  I was  on 
the  point  of  saying  theological  j but  there  is  a great 
difference  between  theological  and  dogmatical.  Dog- 
matism is  theology  raised  to  power.  Theology  there 
always  must  be ; some  account  of  the  Supreme 
Power  in  the  world  ; some  report  of  the  contents 
of  the  Divine  Mind.  The  present  indifference  to 
theology  is  hardly  a good  sign,  unless  it  be  an  in- 
difference to  theology  as  usually  regarded — that  is, 
to  the  old  systems  of  theology.  The  future  religion, 
for  this  reason,  cannot  be  Protestantism.  For  Prot- 
estantism is  essentially  dogmatical.  It  claims  supe- 
riority to  Romanism  on  the  one  hand  and  to  infi- 
delity on  the  other.  Furthermore,  it  is  identified 
with  the  Bible.  Now,  modern  scientific  criticism 
has  so  riddled  the  Bible,  that  it  no  longer  can  serve 
as  a foundation.  And  this  foundation  being  taken 
away,  Protestantism  must  lose  its  corner-stone,  and 
rest  entirely  on  a rational  basis.  Likewise,  Prot- 
estantism encourages  sectarianism.  It  exists,  in  fact, 
only  in  numerous  parties,  each  jealous  of  the  rest 


27B  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

and  seeking  to  build  up  its  own  establishment  with- 
out regard  to  the  well-being  of  opposing  bodies. 
There  is  a dream  of  unity  amid  all  this  diversity. 
But  such  unity  can  be  gained  only  by  the  sacrifice 
of  the  very  peculiarity  of  division,  and  the  admis- 
sion of  certain  things  which  all  have  in  common ; 
and  such  a reconciliation,  besides  the  tyranny  it  en- 
genders, cannot  be  desired,  as  it  would  be  fatal  to  all 
activity.  Sectarianism  itself,  apart  from  the  “hatred, 
malice,  and  uncharitableness”  which  accompany  it, 
may  not  of  necessity  be  an  evil;  but  sectarianism  as 
it  exists  now  is  an  evil  of  very  great  moment,  and 
yet,  without  something  of  this  alienation  between 
sects  Protestantism  would  decline. 

Is  Unitarianism  then  to  be  the  coming  religion  ? 
I cannot  think  so.  Unitarianism  is  but  a form  of 
Protestantism ; the  most  attenuated  form.  It  is 
committed  to  the  Bible  ; held  to  it  indeed  by  a veiy 
fine  thread,  but  still  held  to  it.  No  doubt  it  has 
gained  greatly  in  the  last  years.  The  annual  circu- 
lation of  its  tracts  has  risen  in  twenty-five  or  thirty 
years  from  fifteen  thousand  to  three  hundred  thou- 
sand copies.  A quarter  of  a century  ago  there  was 
but  one  Unitarian  church  on  the  Pacific  coast,  now 
there  are  eighteen.  A generation  since  it  had,  in  the 
whole  renioii  from  the  Alleshanies  to  the  Rocky 

O O v 

Mountains,  only  fourteen  churches,  now  there  are 
ninety  ; and  in  the  same  period,  sixty-three  new  so- 
cieties have  come  into  being  in  the  New  England 
and  Middle  States.  Still,  as  compared  with  the 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  279 

great  sects,  it  is  very  small,  and  never  can  be  their 
rival.  And  this  because,  however  interesting  and 
precious  it  may  be  to  some  people,  it  lacks,  and  must 
ever  lack,  owing  to  its  critical  character,  the  elements 
of  a great  religion,  the  passionateness  that  charms 
the  people,  and  the  moral  enthusiasm  that  catches 
up  the  few  men  of  genius.  The  period  of  “pale 
negations  ” is  past ; but  in  proportion  as  the  system 
becomes  positive  it  tends  more  and  more  towards  the 
principle  that  animates  the  ethical  societies,  namely, 
its  supreme  devotion  to  the  moral  law.  Thus  it 
stands  at  the  beginning,  not  at  the  end,  of  the  line 
of  advance,  and  has  all  the  work  of  building  up  to 
do,  before  it  can  grow  in  general  influence. 

No,  the  religion  of  the  future  in  America  must  be 
of  the  spirit ; not  merely  as  being  independent  of 
form  and  dogma,  but  as  cherishing  a great  hope  for 
the  soul,  and  a great  aspiration  after  perfection^  No 
doubt  every  spirit  must  have  a form  of  some  kind, 
but  it  need  not  be  a fixed,  established,  dominant 
imposition.  M.  Renan  touched  the  matter  exactly 
when  commenting  on  the  interview  of  Jesus  with 
the  woman  of  Samaria  : “ Woman,  the  hour  is  coming 
and  now  is,  when  men  shall  worship  neither  on  this 
mountain  nor  at  Jerusalem,  but  when  the  true  wor- 
shippers shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit  and  in 
truth.”  Renan  says  : 

When  the  Christ  pronounced  this  word,  he  became  really  a 
Son  of  God,  and  for  the  first  time  spoke  the  word  upon  which 
eternal  religion  shall  repose.  He  founded  the  worship  with- 


28o 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


out  date,  without  country,  which  shall  endure  to  the  end  of 
time.  He  created  a heaven  of  pure  souls,  where  one  finds 
what  one  asks  in  vain  for  on  the  earth,  the  perfect  nobleness 
of  the  children  of  God,  absolute  purity,  total  abstraction  from 
the  impurities  of  the  world,  the  liberty  which  has  its  complete 
amplitude  only  in  the  world  of  thought.  . . . The  love  of  God 
conceived  as  the  type  of  all  perfection,  the  love  of  man,  char- 
ity, his  whole  doctrine  is  reduced  to  this  ; nothing  can  be  less 
theological,  less  sacerdotal,  nothing  more  philosophical,  more 
profound,  or  more  simple. 


T~The  coming  religion  must  also  be  humane  and 
social.  Intellectual  it  must  certainly  be,  but  it  must, 
too,  be  emotional  and  adoring.  There  are  three  im- 
plications in  it — a spiritual  nature  in  man,  a living 
power  in  the  universe,  an  eternal  life  of  progress 
and  attainment,  and  these  are  assured  only  by 
^reason. 

The  coming  religion,  we  may  add,  must  be  Chris- 
tian in  name,  because  Christianity  as  an  ideal  faith 
has  worked  itself  into  our  common  life.  It  is  the 
soul  of  oui*  laws,  of  our  customs,  of  our  institutions. 
All  assume  its  authority;  all  respect  its  sanction. 
The  great  thinkers  of  the  world  conspire  in  thinking 
so.  Thus  Goethe  says  : 


Let  intellectual  culture  progress  ; let  natural  science  extend 
our  knowledge  ; let  the  human  mind  grow  ; it  will  never  out- 
strip the  grandeur  of  Christianity,  nor  its  moral  culture. 

Strauss,  in  his  essay  on  “The  Transient  and  Per- 
manent in  Christianity,”  declares  that  humanity 
never  will  be  without  religion  ; and  Laveleye  says : 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA. 


28l 


It  is  Christianity  which  has  shed  abroad  in  the  world  the 
idea  of  fellowship,  from  which  issue  the  aspirations  after 
equality  which  threaten  the  actual  social  order  ; it  is  also  the 
influence  of  Christianity  which  arrests  the  explosion  of  this 
subversive  force,  and  its  principles,  better  comprised  and 
better  applied,  will  bring  back  by  degrees  peace  in  society. 


Ours  is  a scientific  age.  There  is  a general  de- 
mand for  knowledge,  a desire  for  demonstrated 
truth.  Many  will  believe  nothing  that  they  cannot 
see  with  their  eyes.  In  this  sense,  and  in  this  sense 
alone,  it  is  true  that  facts  count  for  nothing  in  the 
domain  of  religion.  But  there  are  facts  of  the  inner 
world  that  are  quite  as  important  as  any  facts  in  the 
outer  world,— facts  of  the  imagination ; facts  o£  love ; 
facts  of  faith.  Nothing  is  truer  than  that  we  are 
saved  by  hope.  Science  has  enlarged  the  world ; has 
beautified  it ; has  made  it  look  orderly,  harmonious, 
poetic  ; but  the  realm  of  the  known  is  very  small  in- 
deed as  compared  with  the  realm  of  the  unknown, 
and  the  more  we  discover,  the  more  we  find  that  there 
is  to  discover.  The  realm  of  the  inner  world  is  im- 
mensely large ; and  thousands  of  years  must  elapse 
before  we  discover  its  contents,  if  we  ever  do.  The 
language  of  James  Martineau  is  as  true  to-day  as 
it  was  when  the  words  were  spoken,  more  than  fifty 
years  ago : 


Until  we  touch  upon  the  mysterious,  we  are  not  in  contact 
with  religion  ; nor  are  any  objects  reverently  regarded  by  us, 
except  such  as,  from  their  nature  or  their  vastness,  are  felt  to 
transcend  our  comprehension.  . . . The  station  which 

the  soul  occupies  when  its  devout  affections  are  awakened,  is 


282 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


always  this  ; on  the  twilight  between  immeasurable  darkness 
and  refreshing  light  ; on  the  confines  between  the  seen  and 
the  unseen  ; where  a little  is  discerned  and  an  infinitude  con- 
cealed ; where  a few  distinct  conceptions  stand  in  confessed 
inadequacy,  as  symbols  of  ineffable  realities.  . . . And  if 

this  be  true,  the  sense  of  what  we  do  not  know  is  as  essential 
to  our  religion  as  the  impression  of  what  we  do  know  : the 
thought  of  the  boundless,  the  incomprehensible,  must  blend 
in  our  mind  with  the  perception  of  the  clear  and  true  : the 
little  knowledge  we  have  must  be  clung  to  as  the  margin  of 
an  invisible  immensity  ; and  all  our  positive  ideas  be  regarded 
as  the  mere  float  to  show  the  surface  of  the  infinite  deep. 

Shall  I say  that  some  form  of  theism  will  be  the 
religion  of  America  in  the  future  ? Not  the  literal 
theism  of  a generation  or  more  ago,  with  its  indi- 
vidual God,  its  contriving  Providence,  its  supplica- 
tory prayer,  its  future  of  retribution  ; nor  yet  the 
theism  of  Theodore  Parker,  of  an  infinite  God  re- 
vealed in  consciousness,  “ the  Being,  infinitely  pow- 
erful, infinitely  wise,  infinitely  just,  infinitely  loving, 
and  infinitely  holy.”  It  well  may  resemble  the  sys- 
tem described  by  Francis  W.  Newman  in  his  book 
called  “Theism,”  published  in  London  in  1858.  In 
this  work  he  describes  a religion  based  on  conscience, 
without  regard  to  any  form  of  professed  faith,  yet 
covering  in  its  theory  and  practice  the  whole  region 
of  ideal  ethics.  Different  minds  approach  the  prob- 
lem from  different  directions.  Mr.  F.  E.  Abbot 
(“  Scientific  Theism,”  1885)  appeals  to  science ; Josiah 
Boyce  printed  a volume  in  1885  entitled  “The  Beli- 
gious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,”  wherein  he  pursues  the 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  283 

line  of  sympathetic  thought ; James  Martineau  in 
his  “ Study  of  Religion”  (1888),  bases  his  system 
on  the  moral  sense ; but  all  three  arrive  at  the  same 
point — a supreme  mind  in  creation. 

We  must  be  careful  not  to  confound  Theism 
with  Deism,  for  though  both  are  the  same  word 
— one  Greek  and  one  Latin — and  mean  the  same 
thing,  yet  they  stand  for  entirely  different  concep- 
tions. Deism  is  a purely  negative  system,  weighed 
down  with  denials.  It  is  content  when  it  has  re- 
jected what  it  calls  all  supernatural  adjuncts — mira- 
cles, revelations,  an  inspired  Scripture.  Its  face  is 
set  towards  the  past,  not  toward  the  future,  and  it  is 
simply  what  is  left  of  the  old  systems  of  belief,  hav- 
ing no  positive  philosophy  of  its  own.  But  Theism 
is  a positive,  fresh,  original  faith.  It  gazes  forward, 
and  builds  on  the  natural  consciousness  of  man, 
making  no  criticism  on  previous  modes  of  belief. 
It  is  full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm,  looking  towards 
something  that  is  before  it,  not  scorning  but  be- 
lieving. All  that  it  needs  in  order  to  become  a 
popular  faith  is  a poetical  element,  something  imag- 
inative, symbolical,  picturesque.  The  intellectual 
requirements  it  already  possesses.  It  is  affirmative ; 
it  is  universal. 

Neither  must  this  kind  of  theism  be  identified 
with  natural  religion,  unless  natural  religion  be 
made  to  comprehend  facts  of  the  inner  as  well  as 
the  outer  world — facts  of  psychology  as  well  as 
of  physiology ; facts  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body. 


284 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Sucli  a theism  is  not  a mere  reminiscence,  either,  of 
an  ancient  faith ; for  every  form  of  mediatorial  re- 
ligion, however  modified,  simplified,  “enlightened,” 
as  it  is  called,  leaves  something  of  its  temper  behind 
it.  The  intellect  is  haunted  by  old  modes  of  truth ; 
the  heart  lingers  around  the  ancient  places  of  rever- 
ence ; the  conscience  refers  to  some  antique  author- 
ity ; the  soul  cannot  pray  except  in  the  language  of 
a pater-noster  or  a psalm.  A scent  as  of  roses  may 
hang  round  the  human  mind;  but  the  roses  will  be 
grown  in  some  garden  of  the  East,  not  in  ours.  [/Such 
a theism  as  I am  thinking  of  will  be  grounded  in 
Ethical  Law.  You  may  call  it  “Christian,”  if  you 
will,  because  the  word  Christian  expresses  the  high- 
est form  of  the  moral  sentiment,  and  carries  a su- 
preme authority  to  the  human  conscience  ; but  on  the 
human  conscience  it  must  rest.  It  will  be  a noble, 
pure  faith,  giving  a welcome  to  all  knowledge, 
bright  with  anticipation,  warm  with  enthusiasm,  j 
As  John  Weiss  has  said  so  much  better  than  I 
can  what  I mean,  I will  quote  a passage  from  him. 

It  occurs  in  “American  Religion”  (page  67) : 


Cannot  the  power  which  sustains,  without  budging  from  the 
spot,  my  personal  vitality,  sustain  and  nourish  the  immediate 
conscience  of  which  that  vitality  makes  me  aware  ? I cannot 
hurt  my  health,  nor  tell  a lie,  nor  commit  a fraud,  nor  strike 
my  brother,  nor  leave  the  beggar  in  the  ditch,  nor  parade  my 
superiorities,  without  knowing  it  by  direct  intimation.  My 
pains  are  its  rebukes,  my  delights  its  sympathies,  my  hopes  its 
suggestions,  my  sacrifices  its  impost,  my  heavenly  longings  its 
apology  for  haunting  me  forever.  There  is  a power  in  which 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  285 


I live  and  move  and  have  my  being,  in  which  I eat,  drink, 
breathe,  sleep,  wake,  love  and  hate,  marry,  and  protect  a home. 
Is  it  incapable  of  sustaining  all  my  functions  of  true  religion 
on  the  spot  as  well  as  these  ? Do  I have  these  without  a 
mediator,  and  must  I travel  for  the  rest  ? When  I undertake 
to  breathe  by  tradition  it  will  be  time  for  me  to  get  a sense  of 
God  in  the  same  way. 


The  Dignity  of  Human  Nature  must  be  our  watch-/ 
word ; of  human  nature , not  of  human  character. 
For  human  nature  denotes  the  capacities  of  man, 
what  he  ought  to  be  and  shall  be,  not  what  he  is. 
Human  character  expresses  only  the  undeveloped 
condition  of  man,  and  is  therefore  not  to  be  taken  as 
a final  stand.  This  doctrine  does  not  belong  to  a 
sect  or  a church,  but  to  all  mankind.  It  assumes  an 
entirely  new  conception  of  the  basis  of  religious 
faith ; it  makes  a new  beginning ; it  starts  a new 
system;  it  exactly  reverses  the  ancient  order  of 
thought,  and  builds  up  from  a completely  original , 
foundation.  -J 1 

The  weightiest  objections  proceed  from  the  unde- 
veloped character  of  man.  For  example,  the  common 
saying  that  conscience  is  crude,  confused,  either  does 
not  exist  at  all,  or  erects  inconsistent  standards  of 
right  and  wrong.  But  if  a high  criterion  of  morality 
is  established,  as  it  is,  it  has  an  educating  and  sus- 
taining power.  Every  saint  attests  it ; all  the  bibles 
of  the  world  voice  it ; revelation  owes  to  it  its  au- 
thority. Great  souls  do  but  raise  the  common  level 
on  which  common  souls  tread ; as  the  discovery  of 


286 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


the  ancient  pavements  in  the  Fornm  at  Kome  opens 
to  ordinary  feet  the  way  that  statesmen  and  heroes 
went.  When  I was  in  Salem,  a young  man  who  was 
very  much  addicted  to  drink,  being  remonstrated 
with,  urged  that  he  could  not  help  it,  that  he  was 
born  so,  just  as  another  was  born  to  praise  and  pray. 
His  appetite  for  ardent  spirits  was  just  as  natural  to 
him  as  the  preacher’s  appetite  for  spiritual  things. 
His  argument  could  not  be  refuted,  but  I always 
thought  that  in  his  hours  of  reflection,  if  he  had  any, 
he  must  have  despised  himself.  At  all  events,  the 
outside  observer  would  class  him  with  a lower  order 
of  humanity ; the  fixed  rule  of  conscience  being  a 
universal  judge. 

Again,  the  slowness  of  moral  advance  is  flung  in 
our  teeth ; the  stubbornness  of  vice  and  evil.  But 
we  must  give  time  for  improvement  and  cultivation. 
All  good  things  must  wait — coal,  petroleum,  gas, 
electricity ; the  fertilizing  qualities  of  guano  were 
known  and  announced  a full  generation  before  the 
industrial  world  acted  on  the  discovery ; now  mil- 
lions of  dollars  are  made  by  its  importation.  We 
are  so  used  to  thinking  of  the  globe  as  round,  and  of 
men  as  living  at  the  antipodes  just  as  we  live  here, 
that  we  cannot  believe  that  once  it  was  deemed  im- 
possible for  human  creatures  to  live  with  their  heads 
downward  and  their  feet  upward,  and  to  walk  like 
flies  upon  a ceiling.  None  but  hopelessly  crazy  or 
foolish  people  were  supposed  to  entertain  such  a 
notion.  So  the  time  will  come  when  it  shall  be  as 


THE  RELIGIOUS  FUTURE  OF  AMERICA.  287 

natural  for  men  to  do  riglit  as  to  breathe ; when  all 
kinds  of  injustice,  cruelty,  and  tyranny  will  be  in- 
stinctively abandoned.  When  that  time  does  come, 
men  will  be  unable  to  believe  that  the  ages  ever 
were  when  men  could  make  brutes  of  themselves  or 
brutally  treat  each  other.  An  eminent  divine,  com- 
menting on  a passage  in  Matthew,  x viii.,  1 5 — “ More- 
over, if  thy  brother  shall  trespass  against  thee,  go 
and  tell  him  his  fault  between  him  and  thee  alone ; 
if  he  shall  hear  thee,  thou  hast  gained  thy  brother. 
But  if  he  will  not  hear  thee,  then  take  with  thee  one  or 
two  more,  that  in  the  mouth  of  two  or  three  witnesses 
every  word  may  be  established.  And  if  he  shall 
neglect  to  hear  them,  tell  it  unto  the  church : but  if  he 
neglect  to  hear  the  church,  let  him  be  unto  thee  as  a 
heathen  man  and  a publican,” — said:  “This  is  equiv- 
alent to  saying,  ‘ You  must  begin  all  over  again ; 
must  start  fresh  from  the  beginning.’  ” This  was 
very  bad  exegesis,  but  it  was  excellent  morality ; 
even  the  “ heathen  man  and  the  publican  ” holds  in 
his  bosom  all  the  possibilities  of  human  nature ; and 
we  are  bound  to  believe  that  in  time  the  like  of  him 
may  be  saintly. 

The  decline  of  faith  in  religion,  the  passion  for 
material  things — money,  fame,  luxury, — is  often  cited 
as  a proof  that  man  is  going  downward ; but  may 
not  this  be  a simple  return  to  honesty  and  a rudi- 
mental  integrity ; a disposition  to  depend  on  one’s 
self,  and  not  on  any  mediator  or  redeemer  ?J  Let  us 
build  then  in  hope  and  faith,  for,  after  all,  these  are 


288 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


the  great  architects.  A listener  to  an  eminent  divine 
once  said  that  when  he  got  up  to  speak  a radiance 
seemed  to  grow  round  his  head  ; the  great  walls  of  a 
temple  seemed  to  rise  above  him;  the  audience  was 
composed  of  all  nations,  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men,  and  a choir  of  seraphs  made  the  music  ; and 
yet  this  man  spoke  in  a small,  low-browed  hall  to  a 
scanty  audience,  and  the  hymns  were  badly  sung  by 
a voluntary  company.  Such  power  has  a great  con- 
viction ; and  when  a deep  conviction  like  that  is  ex- 
tended and  confirmed,  the  visible  church  will  match 
the  invisible,  and  shepherds  will  again  hear  the 
songs  of  angels. 


XVII. 


CONFESSIONS. 

The  course  of  spiritual  advance  is  traced  with  diffi- 
culty and  hesitation.  It  is  the  most  obscure  phase 
of  the  general  problem  of  progress,  which  is  almost 
insoluble.  There  are  so  many  currents  and  counter- 
currents  ; so  many  tributaries;  so  many  swift  torrents 
and  still  bays ; so  many  times  the  stream  seems  moving 
in  the  opposite  direction — it  is  not  surprising  if  some 
have  concluded  that  there  was  no  progress  at  all, 
that  we  only  moved  in  a circle,  went  over  the  same 
ground  again  and  again,  and  even  marched  back- 
wards ; what  some  counted  gain  others  counted  loss. 
A keen  examination  suggests  that  on  the  whole  ad- 
vance has  been  made,  allowance  being  conceded  for 
many  a turn  and  variation. 

The  law  of  evolution  may  be  considered  estab- 
lished, but  the  method  of  evolution  is  hidden.  The 
law  of  hereditary  descent  may  be  admitted,  and  yet 
the  lines  of  hereditary  descent  are  by  no  means  ob- 
vious. Tendencies  may  even  run  in  parallel  lines, 
may  aid  each  other,  may  confuse  each  other,  may 
neutralize  each  other,  may  go  very  far  or  lie  close  at 

289 


19 


2go 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS . 


hand,  and  in  any  individual  instance  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  find  how  they  work. 

In  my  own  case  the  inferences  of  temperament 
followed  each  other.  During  the  first  fifty  years 
of  my  life  I was  mainly  under  the  influence  of  my 
father’s  temperament.  I sang,  wrote  hymns  and 
poems,  sent  pieces  to  the  papers,  was  sanguine, 
inclined  to  take  a happy  view  of  all  experiences ; 
but  at  the  same  time  I was  conscious  of  another 
train  of  thought  which  struggled  fitfully  with  the 
first,  acquiring  more  and  more  power  until  at  last  it 
gained  the  ascendency,  and  I found  myself  more 
inclined  to  conservatism,  as  it  is  called,  to  a grave, 
sober,  serious  regard  for  existing  institutions  and 
modes  of  opinion.  It  is  said  that  this  might  have  been 
the  effect  of  years,  inasmuch  as  after  middle  life  one 
is  very  apt  to  experience  a change  of  sentiment.  But 
in  my  own  case  time  will  hardly  explain  the  phe- 
nomenon, for  long  before  I came  to  middle  age  I 
was  aware  of  this  less  hopeful  tendency  in  my  consti- 
tution. It  was  my  mother’s  influence  succeeding  my 
father’s.  And  though  it  never  entirely  prevailed,  I 
can  see  how  it  may  have  shadowed  my  visions  of 
the  future.  And  it  makes  me  somewhat  distrustful 
of  the  entire  sanity  of  my  criticism.  I am  afraid  of 
not  being  hopeful  enough. 

I have  sometimes  suspected  myself  of  a too  critical 
disposition,  a propensity  to  discover  defects  in  men 
and  opinion,  ’ to  look  at  the  dark  side  of  systems 
that  were  repudiated  ; and  in  the  effort  to  correct 


CONFESSIONS. 


29I 


the  aberrations  of  a literal  estimate  I may  have  gone 
too  far  in  the  opposite  direction,  rendering  more  than 
justice  to  antagonistic  doctrines.  But  this,  if  it  was 
an  error,  was  certainly  not  an  error  to  be  ashamed  of. 
For  say  what  we  will,  the  partial  man  is  not  the 
whole  man,  nor  is  cold  perception  true  perception. 
There  must  be  sympathy  in  every  act  of  judgment, 
as  Dr.  Diman  wisely  wrote  ( “ The  Theistic  Argu- 
ment,” p.  32)  : “ In  the  pursuit  of  the  highest  truth 

not  one  faculty  but  all  faculties  need  to  be  enlisted.” 
Every  system,  however  formal  or  dogmatical  it  may 
have  become,  had  in  the  beginning  its  spiritual  as- 
pect ; it  was  piously,  if  not  humanely,  meant ; 
and  in  order  to  be  rightly  comprehended,  should 
be  surveyed  from  the  inside.  The  most  repulsive 
doctrine  has  something  to  urge  in  its  favor,  and  it  is 
the  duty  of  the  true  rationalist  to  find  out  what  it 
may  be. 

If  the  inclination  to  take  a common-sense  view  of 
opinions  was  derived  from  my  mother’s  side,  a strong 
democratic  bent  was  primarily  due  to  her.  My 
grandfather  was  a poor  boy  who  earned  his  fortune 
by  the  simple  qualities  of  industry,  integrity,  perse- 
verance, independence,  faithfulness,  honesty, — virtues 
which  he  bequeathed  to  his  children.  These  in- 
herited dispositions  were  encouraged  by  the  social 
influences  of  the  public  school,  which,  in  spite  of 
its  laborious  method  of  imparting  a knowledge  of 
Latin  and  Greek,  threw  the  lads  together,  thus 
breaking  down  artificial  distinctions  ; and  also  by  my 


292 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


experience  at  Harvard  College,  where  scholarshij) 
was  associated  with  mere  manhood,  and  was  culti- 
vated by  youth  of  all  conditions.  The  anti-slavery 
agitation  was  a practical  instructor  in  humanity, 
indicating  as  it  did  the  widest  sympathy  of  race. 
An  assumption  of  the  essential  identity  of  all  sorts 
of  mind  was  a cardinal  principle  of  transcendenta- 
lism, while  my  later  experiences  confirmed  these  early 
tendencies.  My  societies  in  Jersey  City  and  Hew 
York  were  popular  in  their  composition.  The  “Free 
Religious  Association  ” was  based  on  universal  senti- 
ments. The  clerical  profession  was,  in  my  day, 
broadly  human,  so  that  aristocratic  proclivities 
had  small  hope  of  prevailing.  In  fact,  the  lessons 
which  I learned  from  R.  W.  Emerson  and  Wendell 
Phillips  sank  deeply  in,  and  became  clearer  as  years 
went  on. 

One  can  hardly  say  that  learning  is  retrogressive 
when  one  thinks  of  Dr.  Dollinger,  of  Germany ; 
Ernest  Renan,  of  France  ; Benjamin  Jowett,  Arthur 
P.  Stanley,  James  Martineau,  of  England ; but  eru- 
dition must,  as  a rule,  be  conservative;  for  it  asso- 
ciates the  mind  directly  with  the  past,  binds  one 
down  to  facts  of  history,  and  lays  great  stress  on 
the  testimony  of  evidence.  It  still  is  true  that 
abundance  of  luggage  is  a sign  that  one  is  far  from 
home.  And  they  who  can  move  quickly  with  all 
this  weight  upon  them  must  have  extraordinary 
genius. 

An  indifference  to  dogma  is  also  characteristic  of 


CONFESSIONS. 


293 


a speculative  reformer;  and  I cannot  recollect  the 
time  when  I cared  much  for  doctrinal  differences. 
All  questions  were  to  me  open  questions.  I had 
doubts  about  everything,  and  never  suffered  acute 
pain  from  such  doubts.  The  influence  of  Jesus,  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  the  existence  of  God,  were 
always  exposed  to  misgivings.  Everything  active 
was  interesting  to  me,  whether  it  looked  toward 
“radicalism”  or  not.  This  was  an  advantage,  not 
merely  because  it  saved  me  from  suffering,  but  be- 
cause it  enabled  me  to  face  all  emergencies. 

But  some  one  will  say : Does  not  the  love  of  truth 
count  for  anything?  Yes,  undoubtedly  it  doe3. 
But  lovers  of  truth  do  not  by  any  means  belong  to 
the  same  school,  or  look  for  light  from  the  same 
quarter ; some  are  Romanists,  some  Protestants ; 
some  have  no  religion  at  all.  Lovers  of  truth  are 
found  in  all  denominations,  from  Calvinist  to  Uni- 
tarian, from  Christian  to  Buddhist.  Truth  exists 
for  us  in  layers.  There  are  truths  of  the  letter  and 
truths  of  the  spirit ; there  is  truth  to  fact,  and  truth 
to  fancy;  there  is  truth  to  the  individual  soul,  and 
truth  to  the  public  conscience ; there  is  truth  to  the 
heart,  to  the  moral  sense,  to  the  spiritual  intuition : 
but  it  will  not  do  to  charge  lack  of  truthfulness 
upon  anybody  simply  because  he  does  not  hold  the 
same  opinion  with  ourselves.  M.  Renan  somewhere 
says  that  in  order  to  judge  a system  one  must  have 
been  in  it  as  a disciple,  and  outside  of  it  as  a critic. 
But  then  only  a very  extraordinary  person  can  do 


2Q4 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


this.  As  a disciple  lie  must  be  earnest,  intelligent, 
devoted ; as  a critic  be  must  be  without  prejudice, 
without  animosity,  and  without  guile.  Thus  the 
point  of  view  must  of  necessity  be  individual.  There 
can  be  no  general  or  absolute  standard  of  judgment. 
One  thing  only  is  certain  : the  fact  of  spiritual  prog- 
ress; but  what  constitutes  this  progress  nobody 
can  tell.  Since  1822  till  now  the  change  in  Unitarian- 
ism  has  been  immense,  and  it  has  consisted  in  the 
gradual  supremacy  of  reason  over  tradition,  but  it 
has  been  almost  too  sudden  and  too  swift.  Progress 
had  better  be  slow,  in  order  that  it  may  be  sure. 
One  step  at  a time,  for  the  reason  that  only  one 
step  at  a time  can  be  taken  safely.  We  must  not 
jump  at  conclusions.  There  must  be  unbounded 
catholicity  of  thought,  but  it  must  not  be  made  up 
of  indifference,  concession,  and  idle  compliance. 

Experience  has  taught  me  many  things — this 
among  others,  that  there  is  no  final  criterion  of 
truth,  not  criticism,  or  “science,”  or  philosophy,  or 
liberty.  There  is  no  question  any  more  of  “de- 
structive ” and  “ constructive.”  The  Supreme  Power 
is  always  constructive,  and  the  Supreme  Power  is 
sure  at  last  to  prevaihj  There  is  an  old  Greek  fable, 
that  Apollo  once  challenged  Jupiter  to  shoot.  The 
sun-god  shot  an  arrow  to  the  very  confines  of  the 
earth  ; then  Jupiter,  at  one  stride,  reached  the  limits 
of  creation,  and  said,  “ Where  shall  I shoot  ? ” We 
are  not  Jupiters ; we  are  not  Apollos ; but  we  can 
take  our  stand  and  shoot  our  arrows  a little  way  into 


CONFESSIONS. 


295 


the  dark.  The  utmost  we  can  do  is  to  be  steadfast 
in  our  own  places ; be  faithful  to  our  own  calling  ; 
draw  our  own  shaft  to  the  head.  Father  Hecker 
said  a brave  thing  to  me  when,  on  declining  my  re- 
quest that  he  would  speak  before  the  Free  Religious 
Association,  he  took  the  ground  that  in  a few  weeks 
Catholicism  would  enter  Boston  in  triumph.  I hon- 
ored the  Broad  Churchman,  who  said  to  me  once 
that  he  always  preached  Christ  as  an  historical 
person,  and  wished  he  had  a church  big  enough  to 
hold  all  humanity  ; and  I admired  the  Presbyterian 
clergyman  who  commended  the  sincerity  of  Dr. 
Briggs,  whom  some  regarded  as  a heretic.  Fidelity 
to  one’s  own  word  and  gift  is  the  one  thing  needful 
here. 


Whether  it  be  the  tendency  of  modern  thou: 


or  whether  it  be  not,  to  abandon  the  Christian  reli- 
gion and  cast  discredit  on  every  kind  of  faith  held 
by  the  churches  and  professors  throughout  the 
world,  cannot,  in  this  generation,  be  decided.  In 
any  event,  we  shall  not  be  left  desolate.  For  nature 
will  remain,  with  its  unfathomable  resources  of  use 
and  beauty.  The  mind  will  remain,  with  its  infinite 
faculties  of  reason  and  imagination.  The  heart  will 

o 

remain,  with  its  insatiable  affections  and  desires. 
Conscience  will  remain,  with  its  sense  of  duty.  The 
sentiments  of  awe,  wonder,  admiration,  worship, 
will  not  expire.  The  reconstructive  powers  will 
still  be  active,  and  every  creative  quality  will  con- 
tinue in  full  operation.  Knowledge,  literature,  art, 


296  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


will  live  and  flourish  in  new  manifestations ; and  no 
original  capacity  will  lie  unemployed. 

We  should  have  learned  by  this  time  that  nothing 
dies  before  its  hour  has  come  ; that  processes  of  re- 
cuperation keep  even  pace  with  processes  of  decay ; 
that  forms  alone  perish  while  principles  endure; 
that  living  things  become  more  mighty  and  glorious 
as  they  throw  off  encumbrances  ; that  strength  al- 
ways in  the  end  accompanies  simplicity. 

The  idea  of  God  has  passed  through  several 
phases,  and  each  new  phase  has  been  a gain.  The 
deity  who  was  an  individual  has  become  a person ; 
the  attributes  of  personality,  as  commonly  under- 
stood, have  disappeared,  so  that  pantheism  has  suc- 
ceeded to  a mechanical  theism  ; God  has  become  a 
name  for  our  most  exalted  feelings,  so  that  instead  of 
saying  “ God  is  Spirit,”  some  read  “ Spirit  is  God  ” ; 
yet  the  ancient  reverence  more  than  persists,  is  on 
the  increase.  And  if  the  course  of  disintegration  of 
the  old  clumsy  conception  should  go  on,  there  need 
be  no  apprehension  that  loving  veneration  will 
decline. 

The  future  life  is  no  longer  associated  with  retri- 
bution, and  immortality  means  opportunity  instead 
of  doom.  Should  the  doctrine  of  moral  influence 
follow  upon  the  doctrine  of  spiritual  progression,  the 
essential  significance  of  the  tenet  would  be  preserved, 
for  that  is  ethical  not  individual. 

Prayer,  too,  is  no  more  a begging  for  favors,  or  an 
act  of  intercession  Supplication  for  outward  bene- 


CONFESSIONS. 


29  7 


fits  has  given  place  to  petition  for  spiritual  gifts,  and 
this  to  pure  aspiration,  the  desire  for  excellence ; 
still  the  soul’s  passion  is  as  deep  as  ever,  perhaps 
deeper. 

If  Mr.  Tyndall’s  prophecy  should  be  fulfilled,  and 
we  should  come  to  “ discover  in  that  matter  which  we, 
in  our  ignorance,  and  noth  withstanding  our  professed 
reverence  for  its  Creator,  have  hitherto  covered  with 
opprobrium,  the  promise  and  potency  of  every  form 
and  quality  of  life,”  then  what  we  call  matter  would 
simply  assume  new  properties  commensurate  with 
novel  tasks.  The  properties  themselves  will  remain 
as  they  were,  and  will  in  nowise  change  their  peculi- 
arity. The  ancient  attributes  of  mind  will  persist, 
whatever  theory  of  their  origin  be  adopted.  The 
old  sanctities  will  endure,  and  the  burden  of  respon- 
sibility will  fall  uj^on  another  pair  of  shoulders. 

Thus  every  virtue  will  be  maintained  in  complete 
vigor, — reverence,  aspiration,  trust,  submission,  con- 
fidence, serenity,  patience,  fortitude, — and  nothing 
will  be  lost. 

Then  there  is  the  social  world,  in  which  we  “ live 
and  move  and  have  our  being.”  This  “encompasses 
us  behind  and  before,  and  lays  its  hand  upon  us.” 
There  is  not  an  hour  in  the  day,  hardly  a moment  of 
the  hour,  when  the  call  of  duty  is  not  made  upon  us. 
None  but  the  rarest  spirits  discharge  the  claims  of 
mercy  and  brotherhood ; people  generally  do  not 
know  what  they  are  ; repudiate  them  when  presented. 
The  preachers  have  more  than  they  can  do  to  induce 


298  RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 

practice  of  even  the  commonest  virtues  of  good  will. 
Humanity,  in  its  grand  aspects,  is  left  to  the  writers 
of  Utopias.  Not  a day  passes  that  conscience  is 
not  over-worked,  even  when  it  is  not  perplexed  by 
misgivings  in  regard  to  the  amount  or  the  kind  of 
service  it  ought  to  render.  Some  have  sought  an 
escape  in  the  immortal  life  from  the  demands  of  this  ; 
and  some  have  denied  the  doctrine  of  another  world 
because  it  drew  attention  away  from  this,  and  made 
the  ills  of  the  present  seem  light  in  view  of  some 
coming  beatitude.  In  truth,  the  friends  of  that  great 
hope  will  do  well  to  remember  that  it  is  identical 
with  moral  attainment ; that  it  is  for  great  souls ; 
that 

The  life  of  heaven  above, 

Springs  from  the  life  below. 

It  is,  to  say  the  least,  doubtful  whether  any  future 
life  can  do  more  than  ripen  seeds  that  are  sowed 
here,  or  whether  spiritual  perfection  will  owe  any- 
thing essential  to  other  events  of  time,  while  it  is 
certain  that  nothing  is  sure  to  abide  but  what  is 
born  of  love. 

Unless  the  doctrine  of  a future  life  can  be  used  to 
reinforce  the  doctrine  of  moral  attainment  in  the 
present  state  of  existence,  its  power  must  de- 
part. The  cords  of  personal  affection  are  not  strong 
enough  to  hold  the  belief.  The  true  inference  from 
disbelief  is  not  expressed  in  the  words,  “ Let  us  eat 
and  drink  for  to-morrow  we  die  but  in  these,  “ I 
must  work  while  it  is  day.”  This  idea  is  a veiy  old 


CONFESSIONS. 


299 


one.  The  air  was  full  of  it  when  I was  a youth. 
It  was  the  soul  of  all  liberal  faith.  The  Westminster 
Review , which  was  in  full  force  in  my  early  man- 
hood, having  begun  in  1824,  two  years  after  my 
birth,  was  animated  by  it.  The  Prospective  Review , 
the  organ  of  the  spiritual  Unitarians,  and  edited  by 
such  men  as  James  Martineau,  John  James  Tay- 
lor, John  Hamilton  Thom,  and  Charles  Wicksteed, 
a magazine  aiming  to  “ interpret  and  represent  Spirit- 
ual Christianity  in  its  character  of  the  Universal 
Religion,”  was  started  about  1845.  In  its  pages 
“ spirituality  ” was  intimately  associated  with  “ hu- 
manity.” The  books  of  F.  W.  Newman,  “ The 
Soul”  (1849)  ; “ Phases  of  Faith  ” (1850)  ; “ Catholic 
Union  ” (1854),  teemed  with  this  conception.  The 
charming  verses  of  William  Blake,  published  in 
his  “ Songs  of  Innocence,”  had  somehow  came  to  my 
knowledge. 


To  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love, 
All  pray  in  their  distress  ; 

And  to  these  virtues  of  delight 
Return  their  thankfulness. 


For  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love 
Is  God,  our  Father  dear  ; 

And  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love 
Is  man,  His  child  and  care. 


For  mercy  has  a human  heart  ; 
Pity,  a human  face  ; 

And  love,  the  human  form  divine 
And  peace,  the  human  dress. 


300 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


Then  every  man  of  every  clime 
That  prays,  in  his  distress, 

Prays  to  the  human  form  divine 
Love,  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace. 


And  all  must  love  the  human  form 
In  Heathen,  Turk,  or  Jew  ; 

Where  mercy,  love,  and  pity  dwell, 
There  God  is  dwelling  too. 


In  tliis  country  the  same  idea  prevailed  in  the 
early  period  of  transcendentalism,  and  gradually 
worked  its  way  into  the  common  heart.  Channing 
lent  it  an  impulse.  His  brilliant  nephew,  William 
Henry  Channing,  exemplified  it.  The  transcenden- 
tal preachers  all  insisted  on  it.  The  “ Dial  ” was 
charged  with  it.  The  most  kindling  literature  of 
my  growing  days  drew  inspiration  from  it.  Brook 
Farm,  Fruitlands,  and  every  other  attempt  at 
association  was  built  upon  it.  Modern  socialism 
owes  to  it  the  fascination  it  has  for  the  heart ; and 
we  cannot  listen  to  a sermon  now  that  does  not 
throb  with  the  emotion  it  excites. 

For  myself  I must  confess  that  I have  no  interest 
in  another  life,  save  as  it  encourages  the  endeavor 
after  this  human  excellence.  My  mental  constitu- 
tion makes  me  insensible  to  sentimental  considera- 
tions, to  arguments  addressed  to  private  affections. 
As  my  first  sermon  was  about  the  brotherhood  of 
man,  so  my  present  hope  is  that  love  may  increase, 
and  that  the  reign  of  theology  may  be  succeeded 
by  that  of  charity. 


CONFESSIONS. 


301 


This  was  the  dream  of  Abbot  Joachim,  in  the 
twelfth  century,  the  Cistercian  monk,  founder  of  the 
monastery  of  Floris,  author  of  “ The  Everlasting 
Gospel.”  It  was  his  notion  that  the  existing  era  of 
Christianity  was  passing  away.  According  to  him, 
there  were  three  dispensations,  corresponding  to  the 
three  persons  in  the  Trinity — that  of  the  Father, 
that  of  the  Son,  that  of  the  Spirit, — the  dispensa- 
tion of  Awe,  the  dispensation  of  Wisdom,  and 
the  dispensation  of  Love.  The  first  was  repre- 
sented by  Peter,  the  organizer,  the  patron  saint 
of  Romanism ; the  second,  by  Paul,  the  preacher 
of  the  Word,  the  bulwark  of  Protestantism  ; the 
third  by  John,  the  seer,  the  beloved  disciple,  the 
apostle  of  love.  How  much  the  pious  man  meant 
by  this  we  cannot  tell.  His  own  contemporaries 
wrere  divided  in  opinion ; but  a pretty  fair  com- 
mentary is  furnished,  in  the  fact  that  his  writing 
was  condemned  by  two  Councils — that  of  the  Later- 
an  in  1215,  and  of  Arles  in  1260, — and  that  he  has 
ever  since  been  classed  among  the  mystics— that  is, 
the  unintelligible  and  the  unbalanced  in  mind. 

True  the  prophecy  has  not  been  literally  fulfilled, 
inasmuch  as  the  first  two  dispositions  are  still  in 
force,  and  are  likely  to  be  for  many  a day,  but  the 
essence  of  it  has  come  to  pass.  Romanism  has  been 
deprived  of  its  temporal  authority,  and  is  reduced 
to  a picturesque  form  of  faith ; its  disciples  easily 
throw  off  its  bondage,  while  its  new  professors  never 
put  it  on.  Protestantism  is  decomposing  under  the 


302 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  IMPRESSIONS. 


influence  of  doubt  and  criticism.  The  thought  of 
brotherhood  is  extending.  I have  small  faith  that 
the  time  will  ever  come  when  all  people  will  wor- 
ship under  one  form,  or  will  accept  the  same  mode 
of  believing.  I cannot  think  that  at  the  name  of 
Jesus  every  knee  will  bow,  or  that  every  tongue 
will  make  confession  of  his  Lordship  ; but  I do  be- 
lieve that  the  reign  of  justice  and  good-will  shall  be 
established.  It  is  a great  deal  to  hope  for  a time 
when  the  many  will  submit  to  the  law  of  reason,  be- 
coming strong  enough  to  withstand  the  force  of 
authority  in  church  or  creed,  and  content  with 
charity. 

| We  have  gained  much  since  Joachim’s  day.  We 
have  acquired  knowledge,  industry,  civilization, 
freedom,  enterprise,  intelligence,  the  sense  of  mutual 
dependence.  The  bars  of  prejudice  are  being  taken 
down.  Class  distinctions  are  benm  abolished. 

o 

Newly  discovered  arts  are  bringing  men  nearer  to- 
gether, and  weaving  the  ties  of  fraternity.  All  this 
is  opportunity — opportunity  that  immediately  pre- 
cedes performance.  When  we  see  the  road  prepared 
for  the  Spirit,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  Spirit  itself 


INDEX. 


A 

Abbot,  F.  E.,  117,  282 
Abbott,  E.  A.,  256 
Abolitionists,  45,  183 
Adler,  Felix,  quoted,  268 
Alcott,  A.  B.,  52 
Anti-slavery,  44,  46,  49 
Arminians,  1 
Arnold,  M.,  13 

B 

Barnard,  F.  A.  P.,  226 
Barnard,  T.,  43 
Bartol,  C.  A.,  119 
Baur,  F.  C.,  57 
Beecher,  H.  W.,  256 
Bellows,  H.  W.,63,  74,  76,  1 1 5,  1 16, 
118,  184 

Blake,  Wm.,  quoted,  299 
Boston,  17 
Brace,  C.  L.,  226 
Brazer,  John,  43 
Broad  Church,  71,  257,  etc. 

Brook  Farm,  136,  227,  235,  236, 
239,  240,  241,  244 
Brown,  John,  104 
Browning,  R.,  4,  16,  145,  201 
Brownson,  Orestes,  203 

C 


Carter,  R.,  226 
Cary,  Alice,  225 
Cary,  Phcebe,  225 
Chadwick,  J.  W.,  187 
Channing,  W.  E.,  47,  183,  186,  235, 
300 

Channing,  W.  H.,  236,  300 
Clarke,  J.  F.,  44,  124 
Clerical  Profession,  The,  146,  etc. 
Colonization,  181 
Communion  Service,  66,  etc. 

Comte,  A.,  217 

Conference,  Unitarian,  115-117 
Curtis,  G.  W.,  42 

D 

Darwin,  C.,  259 
Deists,  61,  62 
Dewey,  Mary,  176 
Dewey,  Orville,  176,  etc. 

Dillaway,  C.  K.,  20 
Diman,  J.  L.,  quoted,  291 
Divinity  Flail,  26 
Divinity  School,  25-34 
Dixwell,  E.  S.,  20 
Dwight,  J.  S.,  236 

E 

Eliot,  George,  138 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  21,  34,  42,  48,  68, 
75,  122,  134,  135,  145  166,  etc., 
196,  209,  245,  270,  292 
Endicott,  John,  36 


Calvinism,  1 
Carlyle,  7,  124 

303 


304 


INDEX. 


Ethical  Religion,  267,  etc. 

Europe,  13 1 

Evolution,  145,  194,  217 
F 

Field,  H.  M.,  227 
Fourier,  C.,  240 
Francis,  Convers,  27 
Fraternity  Club,  128,  129 
Free  Religious  Association,  119,  etc., 
124-126,  209,  292 

Free  Thought  in  America,  133,  etc. 
Frothingham,  Ann  G.,  14-17 
Frothingham,  N.  L.,  2-14 

G 

Gardner,  F.,  20 
Garrison,  W.  L.,  44 
Greeley,  H.,  109,  226,  227 
Goethe,  J.  W.  von,  quoted,  280 

H 

Haeckel,  E.,  217 
Harvard  College,  21 
Hawthorne,  N.,  42,  236,  246 
Heath,  13 1 

Hecker,  I.  T.,  226,  295 
Hedge,  F.  H.,  257 
Higginson,  T.  W.,  35,  122 
Hillard,  G.  S.,  21 
Hitchcock,  R.  D.,  226 
Holland,  J.  G.,  227 

I 

Independent  Society,  126-131,  132, 

138,  139 

Ingersoll,  R.  G.,  227,  253  etc. 

J 

James,  H.,  quoted,  15; 

Jersey  City,  63,  65 


Jewett,  Sarah  O.,  quoted,  255 
Joachim  (Abbot),  301 
Johnson,  S.,  50,  210,  etc. 

Joy,  Charles,  226 

K 

King,  T.  S.,  42,  191,  note. 

Kirwan,  R.,  38 

L 

Latin  School,  19 

Laveleye,  E.  de,  quoted,  272,  281 
Leverett,  F.  P.,  20 
Longfellow,  H.  \V.,  51,  258,  quoted 
Loring,  E.  G.,  245 
Lyric  Hall,  1 25,  128 

M 

Mahomet,  124 

Martineau,  J.,  5S,  165,  185,  quoted, 
275,  281,  282 
Masonic  Temple,  127 
Maurice,  F.  D.,  123,  264 
McQueary,  Rev.  H.,  256 
Minister,  Office  of,  in  War  Time,  106 
Ministry  in  New  York,  131 
Mott,  Lucretia,  121 

X 

National  Conference,  S5 
Negroes,  m,  179 
Newman,  F.  W. , 2S2,  299 
New  York,  76 
“ North  Church,”  42 
Noyes,  G.  R.,  26 

O 

Osgood,  S.,  92,  etc. 


INDEX. 


305 


P 

Paine,  T.,  248,  etc. 

Parker,  T.,  44,  54,  etc.,  70,  122, 
134,  135,  203,  233,  282 
Phillips,  W.,  9,  44,  292 
Poe,  E.  A.,  quoted,  134 
Prescott,  W.  H.,  6,  21 
Priests  in  the  Riot,  1 13 
Prospective  Review,  299 
Protestantism,  275,  277 
Putnam,  Eleanor,  36 

R 

Reid,  Whitelaw,  227 
Renan,  J.  Ernest,  58,  272-274,  276, 
279,  293 

Riot  in  New  York,  107,  etc. 

Ripley,  George,  227 
Romanism,  273,  etc. 

Rood,  O.  N.,  226 
Royce,  J.,  282 
Runkle,  Mrs.  Lucia,  227 

S 

Salem,  35,  etc.,  51 
Sanitary  Commission,  83 
Scherb,  E.  V.,  51 
Schwegler,  A.,  57 
Slavery,  47 
Smith,  S.,  207 
Stearns,  G.,  245 
Stephen,  Leslie,  quoted,  249 
Strauss,  D.  F.,  217,  280 
Sumner,  C.,  21,  221 

T 

Taine,  PI.  A.,  217 
Taylor,  Bayard,  226 


Thackeray,  W.  M.,  8 
Ticknor,  G.,  6,  21 
Torrey,  PI.  W.,  20 
Transcendentalism,  47,  135-137,  214 
Tubingen  School,  57 
Tyndall,  J.,  217,  297 

U 

Unitarianism,  256,  278 
Unitarians,  47,  69,  102,  115,  117, 
124,  183,  266 

V 

Voltaire,  62 

W 

War,  Civil,  The,  114 

Washburn,  E.  A.,  227 

Washington,  George  (Gen.),  105 

Washington,  L.  W. , (Col.),  105 

Wasson,  D.  A.,  60,  119,  122 

Webster,  D.,  21,  180 

Webster,  J.  W.,  22 

Weiss,  j.,  122,  190,  etc.,  284,  quoted 

Westminster  Review,  299 

White,  R.  G.  226 

Williams,  R.,  36 

Winthrop,  T.,  no 

Wise,  H.  A.  (Gov.),  104 

Woman,  Rights  of,  221 

Y 

Youmans,  E.  L. , 226 
Z 

Zeller,  E.,  58 


F"  | 

Date  Due 

\, 

Form  335— 25M — 7-35— B-M.Co. 

332055 


